Hot Cereal
by whatsyourpathology
Summary: Mary and Matthew eat breakfast... kinda. Modern AU. Anthology of life, love, and sex (often all three in combination). Mature readers only.
1. Hot Cereal

**A/N:** There's a girl with a gift of flattery and a Machiavellian understanding of my ego that can basically get me to write whatever she wants. You have her to thank for this.

* * *

"Sugar."

...

"Whole grain corn flour."

...

"Wheat flour."

...

"Whole grain oat flour."

...

"Oat fiber."

…

"Soluble corn fiber."

…

"Partially hydrogenated vegetable oil."

"Are you going to read the whole box?" Matthew said as he placed the last dish on the rack and threw down the wash cloth.

She paused for a moment and diverted her attention from the cereal box to him. She held his gaze by the magnetism of her own. Then the smile, always the smile. She returned to the box.

"Coconut, soybean, cottonseed oils-"

"Alright that's enough of that." Matthew grabbed her wrist and pinned it down onto the counter on which she was sitting.

"Wouldn't you like to know what you're eating?" Mary said with a mischievous grin.

"Oh, I know what I'm eating," he whispered as he pressed himself against her.

Her breathing quickened. It did not go without notice. His hand travelled up her arm as he gently brushed his fingers across her cheek. He opened up his palm, beckoning her in. Like a soft pillow, she relaxed into his hand. She was waiting for it. He leaned in, little by little, in that way that he always did, taking just a half-step too long, suspended between desire and frustration, temptation and annoyance. And just at the last moment, always at the last moment, when that tingling sparked into rage, he kissed her lips, melting her all over again.

He nibbled on her lower lip, a gentle rose petal being touched by summer rain. It really was raining outside. She could hear the light tapping of raindrops on the window. If not much else. Her senses were a little preoccupied at the moment.

The kisses continued and slowly began to drift downward, first to her chin, then down the neck, past her collar bone. She was worried for a moment that the shirt would stop him but his hands swiftly undid the buttons, leaving his mouth undeterred. He was quite fast at it. But of course he would be, it was his shirt after all.

"You seem rather proud of yourself…" Mary said languidly as she leaned her head back against the glass, the overcast light of the rainy morning piercing her eyelids. She was flying.

"What makes you say that?" Matthew said right before her belly button.

"You don't ask permission?" Mary asked.

"Can I stick my tongue up your-"

"Okay, okay stop," Mary giggled as she ran her fingers through his coarse blonde hair. "I can't stand vulgarity."

"As you wish," Matthew mumbled against her skin.

"Oh, you're so loving this." Mary's grip tightened on his hair.

"Oh, I'm the one that's loving this," Matthew grinned as he lowered himself down between her legs.

"Yes, you! You're loving this," Mary protested. "You think you've conquered me."

"Why, I've never thought anything of the sort," he said, affecting an overly-offended voice.

He pulled aside her panties and gently blew upon her skin. She rattled at the touch of his breath. Her bare legs clamping down on his shoulders as an autonomic response. He slowly laid his tongue upon her and buried his nose into her fuzz. She convulsed with every lick. His eyes darted up. He stared at her, passed the writhing plains of her toned stomach, a product of her draconian diet and her addiction to exercise, passed the valley of breasts, creamy and perfect, to her euphoric expression, backlit and obscured by the all-consuming light of the grey skies behind her.

"Sea monster or Perseus?" He whisper into her pussy.

"I knew you remembered,"she said as she opened her eyes slightly and looked down at him.

"Sea monster or Perseus?" He asked again.

"What's the difference?" She asked as she ran her fingers through his hair and traced the length of his spine with her feet.

"Well Perseus, is a prince… and a gentleman," he said breathily, waves of his hot and moist exhalant colliding against her sensitivity. "And he does this…"

Like a brush, he dipped his tongue into her paint and lathered. Slow and deliberate. Palettes don't shake though. He drew little circles and moved to side to side, never leaving her pleasure unattended for long. He dipped his tongue inside of her, for his own pleasure, because he liked her taste and drank her like flowing fountain. He pursed his mouth, in she in response, a meeting of opposite lips, a kiss of subservience and gentlemanly largess.

He returned to her clitoris, with relentless lapping and strategic sucking. Her only response, to tug on his hair, pulling him away to allow herself to breath. He would let her, knowing full well what treason she had committed against herself. She would regret this. When she did, she pushed him back into her, locking her legs in a figure-four around his neck.

Her fingers, felt the ridges on his forehead, the blood vessels that emerged. The furrowed brow of his Mycenaean effort. Her toes curled, digging into his back, hard but smooth, with a little bit of give, like wood. Yes, he was definitely made out of wood. Like a solid mahogany or ash. A craftsman's bench or a classic electric guitar. Strong but capable of such beauty.

Placing his fingers on the counter, he pushed up, she still wrapped around his head. He carried her to the kitchen table, her hand on her butt, gripping tightly, as she grinded into his face. Fighting him and enjoying him all at once.

When he reached the dining room table, he laid her down flat. As winced as the cold of the glass traveled through her skin. He wrapped his hand around the outside of her thighs, hooking his fingers near her knees, he pried her open and freed himself. He leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed him back passionately, tasting her own sex, evidence of his gentlemanly character.

"Now show me the sea monster," Mary whispered as they broke their kiss.

"As you wish," Matthew replied as he undid his belt with one hand.

Matthew pushed his pants down, freeing himself from his confinement. Mary reached down and placed her hand on his cock, solid and hot to the touch. It pulsed rhythmically in her hand, a bomb, that she would inevitably detonate. But for now, a sword attached to a skilled swordsman. He gripped her panties tightly, wrapping them around his white knuckles before ripping them. He would buy her new ones, like he always did. They were progressively getting smaller with every new pair, covering less and less, serving no function but to incite his animalistic desires. In the summers when it was hot, she like to go bare leg and if she didn't wear shorts, he would take that as an invitation. Most of the time, it was. He placed himself on the edge the table, her lips conforming around his head. They trembled in unison. He thrusted deeply into her, her scream cut short halfway through as her breath outran her voice.

He was not gentle.

He placed one hand on her hip while the other clamped onto her shoulder. His grip tightened and his arms flexed. He was hanging on for a reason. He pulled in, impaling her. Her head shot back as her back arched off of the glass surface. She grimaced in sweet agony, yet again her scream being robbed of breath. He rocked faster, vibrating the glass table. Her hands played with her nipples as her legs wrapped around him tightly, a desperate attempt at stability. He would not have it.

She shook and bucked and and clawed, wildly and instinctively. This was the loss of control. This was Andromeda chained to the rock. This was Cetus, hungry. She moaned and screamed. Screamed for God, screamed that he was a god, screamed for him to fuck her harder, he gladly obliged. Oh why did she do that?

Matthew wrapped his arm around her arched back and sat her up, letting gravity further their union. His hands hooked onto her thighs, her butt bouncing off of the glass table. She bit her lip and furrowed her brow. He would commit that expression to his eternal memory. She wrapped placed her arms on his shoulders and held on. What else could she do? She moaned through her lips, futilely trying to keep quiet. Matthew neared her and kissed her, stealing her bottom lip away and opening her mouth, letting her siren song of lust and euphoria escape. For a moment he went deaf from the loudness. And in that moment, through the haze of her vision and the blur of the rhythmic up and down, she could see him smile.

And just as she felt that wonderful blanket of pleasure come over her. She bounced off of the table surface a little too hard, tipping the glass off of its metal frame and causing it to slide, crashing into the hardwood floor and shattering in a million little pieces.

Shocked, Mary looked down, as she hung by his arms above the sea of glass that she had newly created. She looked to Matthew, he wore an expression of anger and frustration.

"Oh my god, Matthew, I'm so sorry!" Mary tried to explain in a panic.

She looked down at his feet. He had a few cuts on his legs that were starting to bleed.

"Are you okay, I'm so sorry!" Mary tried to say again.

His expression remained unchanged.

"You were about to cum weren't you?" Matthew asked in a forced calm voice.

"What?" Mary asked with an expression of utter confusion.

He growled fiercely and slapped her butt. She hung onto him precariously as he walked over to the couch and plopped her down onto it. He grabbed her by the hips and turned her around. He placed his hand onto her sweaty back and pulled away the white dress shirt that still dangled on her arms. He positioned her butt in the air. She arched her back and bit down on couch fabric, ready to receive him. He entered her slowly and deliberately, pushing passed the depth that he had before.

He hit like a freight train, her legs rattling and kicking uncontrollably underneath him. He didn't care, they could do nothing to stop the primordial fury of his hips. Her hips pushed back against him, in a desperate attempt to battle him. But the collision of their two opposing forces only amplified her delicious torment. He grabbed her long dark hair and pulled back, threading his fingers through the curls and latching onto them. Hundreds of dollars at the salon, undone by one Herculean fist. What else was it for really? To seduce him and for him to use as reins. Later, she would have to go out with the signs of his viciousness, the tossed hair and the limp, on clear display as she went to pick up a real breakfast, not the Fruit Loops he had sitting in his cupboard, and what he had done to her would be evident to every passerby. He pulled her up with that one hand on her natural harness until she was upright and against him, her moans turning into throaty growls, her hands grabbing his sides. To think, this was sweet, beautiful Matthew, what monsters lay deep within his soul. Only for her torment.

"Tell me you want it," he commanded.

"I want it…" she whispered.

"Tell me you want it bad."

"I want it so bad," she said louder.

"You want what?"

"I want you…"

"Yes?"

"I want you to…"

"Go on."

"I want you to fuck me until I cum!" she groaned.

He pushed her down onto the couch, her face buried into a cushion.

"As you wish."

She could only sense fragments. His hands tightly squeezing her butt. His hips like pistons, her screams deliberately turned into the cushion to muffle the sound as much as possible. She had broken enough glass for one day. Her legs told the whole story, the kicking grew more and more violent until finally they straightened out and spasms continuously for several moments before releasing the tension and falling lifelessly off of the couch.

She drifted in and out of consciousness, her hair draped over her face, obscuring her vision. She had to stay awake, she couldn't let the sea monster win. She mustered enough strength to sit up and turn her body around. She hooked herself onto him, dragging her face passed his glistening abs and found him still stiff and throbbing.

"What are you doing?" Matthew asked panting and delirious.

"I have to eat too."

She took him into her mouth. Dutifully, like the little whore that he had turned her into this morning. She sucked and licked with great enthusiasm. She thought about what she was doing, she turned her head slightly to look at her reflection in the TV. Her head bobbing up and down, her hands stroking him in an action tantamount to worship. She did indeed worship him. And the grip of her slender fingers, the tightness of her palms, the suction of her mouth, and the wanton moans as he hit the back of her throat, this was prayer. He had truly conquered her. She thought about their first meeting, how lowly she thought he was. This annoying little public defender, weaseling his way into her family's good graces. He wished he could have a girl like her. She dangled men in front of him just to torture him. Showing him what she could have at the snap of her fingers. How he could never compete. He didn't have a chance with her. Now look at her, sweaty and delirious with a mouthful of his cock, ready, eager, desperate to receive him. He was magnanimous. He granted her that wish. She felt him throb in her hands. A moment later, her mouth filling up with his seed, a creamy liquid, the nectar of a god. Okay, he can be both Perseus and the sea monster if he wished. She surrendered. She dutifully swallowed him and cleaned him up with her tongue, like she had learned that Halloween night when he fucked her in that french maid outfit. When she was done, she kissed the head one last time before allowing it to shrink and rest.

She looked down towards her feet, Matthew stared back at her, both with dreamy expressions, their animal natures subsiding as their human selves returned, horrified, ashamed, and bemused at what they had just done. She blew him a lazy air kiss. He mouthed _I love you_ back at her.

"Sorry about the table," Mary said as she covered her face with her hair.

"It was totally worth it."

* * *

**A/N:** I probably should've put a smut warning on this but fuck it, it's already rated M.


	2. Hot Soup, part 1

**A/N: **For those of you who follow me on Tumblr, yes this is very late. I'm not very good at following my own schedule. And to the girl who prompted this chapter. I don't think this was exactly what you were looking for. I certainly didn't intend for it to turn out this way, it just did. And one last time, just to give a little bit of context about this story. This isn't going to sprawl into a massive multi-chapter story, although I had considered it. The first chapter (Hot Cereal) can be considered a prequel to this story, although they are not directly related. But in essence this is a S6 modern AU. I'll leave you your imaginations to fill in the blanks for the rest of it. I purposefully left it vague but as a general guideline, I'll say this, transpose roughly what has happened in canon to modern times and you'll get a close approximation of what happened before this story should you require that much context.

_Hot Soup, part 1_

He nearly flipped over the coffee table when he felt a gentle graze upon his neck. He was supposed to be working, but for the past 40 minutes he had been procrastinating by watching Youtube videos on his phone. He thought he had been found out. But it wasn't like that. In fact, in that moment, he wasn't quite sure what to think. He found her, serenely draped across the length of his couch. Her face was half buried in the cushion. The book, that she had been furiously blazing through for the past few hours, had fallen out of her hand. It was the gentle movement of the pages that had swept across his skin.

He breathed a sigh of relief before he stretched out his arms, releasing all of the tension he had built up from hours of sitting at the base of his couch, working (and pretending to work) on the laptop perched on his coffee table. He checked his watch. 11:40PM. Perhaps, it was time to call her a taxi. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently shook her awake.

"Mary," he whispered.

Slowly she came to. Her eyelids flickered majestically, in a fashion that instinctively caused him to smile. She was beautiful, that much at least, he could still admit to himself. It seemed odd to him, but the thought had crossed his mind more than once, that he couldn't be sure if he would ever get to watch her sleep again. He was glad of the opportunity, one last time.

"I wasn't sleeping," she said groggily. "I was just resting my eyes."

"Come on now, it's late, I should get you home," he said he helped her into an upright position.

She blinked furiously, trying not to rub her eyes like a little girl, despite wanting to.

"Did you get a lot of work done?"

"Yes, I did," he lied.

"Show me," she said, as if she knew.

"You don't trust me?"

"No, I don't," Mary huffed.

"It's really late, I'm going to call you a taxi," Matthew deflected with a signature winning smile. It was slightly condescending, at least Mary always thought so. "Tell your parents, that I'm alright, I'm not dead, I'm not even sick, I'm just busy, and I thank them for their concern."

"I'm not leaving," Mary said defiantly.

"Mary, I'm fine," he said as he stood up and held out his hand.

She looked away and rolled her eyes. At once petulant and dignified in her response. But he knew well enough that things were never quite as they seemed with Mary Crawley. She had once said, in a distant time, in a life far from this one, that _he should pay no attention to the things she says_. Or does, in this case.

This was what he was afraid of. This was what worried him when she showed up, unexpectedly, earlier in the afternoon, dressed immaculately, bringing gifts of hot chicken soup. How was he supposed to react when the woman of his deepest affections, showed up out of the blue after years of absence, bearing a casual familiarity that had long since dissipated between them? Was he simply to play along with the charade that she seemed so keen on enacting?

They had spent the evening in casual conversation. He, explaining to her, in furious detail, what he had been doing with his life for the past couple of months since his return, his efforts to acclimate to his new job, and settling into his new, or rather, old home. He kept it light, deliberately, avoiding the obvious subjects of his return and his mother's passing. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk about it, only that he hated the look of pity in her eyes. She knew it as well and tried, to the best of her abilities to hold it back, but how completely can one mask such emotions?

It wasn't that they were uncomfortable together. In fact, the tension emerged from the unexpected ease and naturality that seemed to emerge from their moments together. They were alone in his kitchen, she sitting at the counter, him standing on the opposite side. He sampled the soup that she had brought him as she enthusiastically explained the ingredients and the arduous and intricate process of preparing it. Naturally, he was impressed but of course, he knew nothing of her anymore. Not after all of these years. She was a different woman. Had seen learn to cook in the time that he had been gone? Evidently. The soup was delicious.

"Mary, what are you doing?" Matthew asked as his tone finally turned more serious.

"Are you kicking me out?" Mary asked.

"Of course not," Matthew replied earnestly. "You're always welcome here, you know that."

"That's what you say…"

"I mean it."

"Then why do you insist that I leave?" Mary asked sharply as she finally turned and looked up at him. She was on the edge of tears.

Matthew's heart sank. He knelt down and gently took her hand into his own. She let him. It had been so long since she had felt the warmth of his touch, the texture of his skin, that familiar pulse. The beating heart that she had fallen asleep, listening to, so many nights before. She remembered how she missed it so terribly much in the first couple of months after he had been confirmed KIA. She could've sworn that on his side of the bed still lingered a faint trace of his heartbeat. And for countless nights after the incident, she lay motionless on his side of the bed trying to feel it for that pulse. And now, here it was, alive and well, a miracle of tragic circumstance. She wanted more than anything to fall asleep listening to his heart once more.

"Mary… you know that it wouldn't be appropriate," Matthew said softly yet sternly.

"What does that mean?!"

"You know what it means, it's not your fault. And it's not mine, it's just how things turned out," Matthew said, trying to steady his voice.

"Well, I disagree," Mary said as she recoiled, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry to say it, but I do."

"And I'm sorry that you feel that way," Matthew said with a sympathetic frown.

"WIll you at least admit that you need help?" Mary asked as she softened her disposition once again.

"Even if I did, I couldn't ask you for it."

"And why not?"

"Because you're married now," Matthew grimaced. "You belong to someone else."

"I belong to no one," Mary objected.

"You know that's not what I meant," Matthew said, softening his voice once again. Thinking somehow, despite it never working before, that it would make it less painful for her and for him.

"You're still George's father," Mary said.

"I know," Matthew said as he looked down in shame. "And I hope to be a good one. But things have changed."

"Matthew, I thought you were gone forever," Mary tried to explain, knowing full well an explanation was the last thing he needed to hear.

"I know, I know. I don't blame you and please understand I'm not trying to punish you, quite the opposite," Matthew said. "I'm glad that you've moved on. You have a life now, a good one. Be happy. Forget me and be free. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Oh Matthew, how can you be so cruel?" Mary said as she tried to hold back her oncoming tears.

"I'm not," he answered simply.

"What you're asking me to do is impossible," Mary said with a trembling in her voice. "How can I leave you here all alone? Without anyone, without Isobel… You can't live like this..."

"Have a little faith in me Mary," Matthew pleaded. "I mourn my mother's death, this is true but I'm stronger than I look."

"You're the strongest man I've ever known." Mary wept.

"Then trust me to bear this on my own," Matthew continued. "I will not like you tear your life apart because of me. I can't have that on my conscience."

"That's not—"

"Good," Matthew cut in as he stood up once again. "Now come on, the cab is here."

After a moment to calm down, Matthew helped Mary up to her feet and grabbed her coat from the closet near the front door. It was funny. When she first saw his place, all those years ago, she thought it was small and cramped and pitied the way his modest lifestyle. But even then, she couldn't help but imagine, what it would've been like to live there, just the two of them, making a life together. A dream that had nearly come true.

He helped her with her coat, draping it over her shoulder, the way he used to. So many things, practically everything reminded them of some past parallel. Everything brought up memories of the past, of a future they had envisioned together, meant to build together. Perhaps in another lifetime.

He opened the door and let her out onto the street. The taxi was already there, waiting for her at the side of the street. The night was unusually dark for this time of night in London. It was just as well, some thing were better left in the shadows; their pain, their regret, the love for each other. They had their chance, they gave it their best shot, but it would seem, that they were just not meant to be.

"So, that's it then? This is goodbye?" Mary asked fearfully.

"Yes, this is goodbye," Matthew confirmed.

"It seems, somehow, inadequate, after everything we've been through," Mary said.

"Maybe so, but it can only be this way," Matthew said.

Mary leaned in and gently kissed Matthew on the cheek.

"Goodbye Matthew," her voice trembled.

"Goodbye Mary," he said.

There was a sense of finality in his voice.

_To be continued..._


	3. Hot Soup, part 2

**A/N: **Sorry, I'm not even following my own schedule anymore lol. I just need to get this story out of my system.

_Hot Soup, part 2_

Every so often he would eat a mouth full of sand. But it didn't bother him. The moisture had long since left his mouth and the only irritation came from the occasional hacking dry cough. Which he had learned to control over the past 36 hours. He didn't know where he was or where he was going. He had already made peace with the idea that in all likelihood, he would die out there. In the perfect dead of night, with a blanket of stars and an endless waste, a sea of sand, either to be consumed by the dunes or be picked away by desert scavengers.

Somehow, he had ended up with an AK-47 with a full clip. Of the things he could remember, he seemed to recall a struggle with a man, possibly his captor. What happened to that man, he couldn't say. Only that he had made it into the desert with the man's gun.

He had forgotten who he was or where he had been. He used to be a man named Matthew Crawley, husband, lawyer, soon to be father, retired army captain, served two tours in Afghanistan, before once again returning to Kandahar as a private contractor. But that was another life. One that he had long since forfeited to the sands of time and the realm of forbidden memories. A man can only hold out hope for so long before that hope drove him insane.

So he freed himself all hope. He freed himself from Matthew Crawley.

Which gave him pause when he heard the question "who are you?" shouted at him by a rough American accent. English, it had been so long since he heard any English. He wondered if he still had the ability to speak it.

It all happened in a flash. The convoy came rolling over the hill with frightening speed and thunderous noise. They quickly surrounded him and shouted for him to drop the gun. Which he did without hesitation. He put his hands on his head, though it didn't stop the American soldiers, Marines from the sounds of their lingo, from kicking in the back of the head, dropping his face into the sand.

"Matthew Crawley." The words came out surprisingly clear.

* * *

He opened his eyes and immediately he knew where he was, what time it was, and how much longer until daybreak. There was a time when he would wake up in a cold sweat, panting heavily, desperately trying to regain his breath. But he had had that dream enough times now that it no longer bothered him.

Matthew laid there motionlessly in the darkness of his bedroom waiting for his pulse to return to normal. He wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for at least another hour. That's how the dream worked. He couldn't ever predict on what nights the dream would come but when it did, he knew exactly how the next day would play out.

He would need a lot of coffee.

But despite all of that, despite the crippling fatigue that inevitably came from his lack of sleep, despite the onslaught of casual comments telling him how terrible he looked that would no doubt greet him the next day, he found solace in that dream. It was soothing. Because it was the only place where he could forget, even if it was for just a brief few hours, that he was in fact, Matthew Crawley. And this was his life now.

Or what remained of it.

* * *

It seemed terribly unfair that he should have to leave again. Just when he had gotten back and after everything they had been through, everything she had put him through. But he was, or so he said, was willing to do this, for her sake. _Stupid Matthew_, she thought even as she stared deeply into the infinity of his pupils. _There's no need to be so selfless._ So much of him, his kindness, his generosity, his patience, had rubbed off on her. Had any of her rubbed off on him?

Apparently not, if he was willing to go back. He had fulfilled his duty to the army. He had (narrowly) survived his two tours of duty. He didn't act on any sense of duty, indeed his time in Afghanistan had caused him to become disillusioned with the army and the country he was serving. He didn't act on the thrill of adventure or the some sort of twisted bloodlust, he had remarked on many occasions, even in their most private moments together that he had trouble sleeping at night because of the things he had done and the horrors he had witnessed. No, he chose to go back for her, for her family, for Downton.

They stood at check-in, her holding his shoulders, him wrapping his arms around her waist. They would have to make this moment last, they would have to make it count.

If Robert hadn't landed the estate in financial turmoil, things might have been different. Matthew would have the option to settle in London and look for a job in a reputable law firm, build a career for himself, and perhaps, in time, make partner. But the estate needed cash now, and the Aegis Defense Services offered him a chance at quick money now. It was quite a bit, not enough to save Downton entirely, but enough to keep it comfortably afloat. The US and consequently, the UK's involvement in Afghanistan was winding down and there would be a need for seasoned private contractors. He figured, tens years and the house would be safe for good. It wasn't nearly as bad as it sounded, he assured her. He would be back for Christmas and birthdays and of course their anniversary.

That was the last time she saw him for six years.

* * *

She was rocked into consciousness by the gentle snoring beside her. In the early days, it used to annoy her to no end, but over the course of months, then years, she insensibly grew accustomed to it. Sometimes she even missed it. Like when she was forced to stay in London because of a work crisis and consequently missed the Monaco Grand Prix. But now, on nights like these, his rhythmic breathing only served to remind her further, and prolong the haze of that dream, from which she had just awoken.

Mary hated that dream. Because, it wasn't really a dream. It was a memory. A memory of the most haunting moment of her life. A memory of the moment, she willingly let him disappear into the desert. Had she known, she would've never let him go. She would've strangled him before letting him get onto that plane. But alas, she didn't know. And she couldn't have known. And in the end, his insurance policy did end up paying for much of the estate. In many ways, he did save her, just as he always intended.

It just wasn't what she wanted and she couldn't shake the feeling of regret and pain and anger for quite a while after. Even now, there remains a side of her that is bitter. Bitter at herself, at the world, at God. What a cruel joke to have him survive the war, only to be torn away from her by his noblest and most loving act. And what twist of fate, would bring him back to life but prevent her from running back into his arms, to leave him destitute, lonely, and broken. To leave him without his wife, his child, or his mother. Far better for him to remained dead if this is what life had to offer him.

When the sun rose, she got out of bed quietly and snuck out of her bedroom. She made her way down the hall into George's room. The boy was still asleep. She took a moment to gaze upon his peaceful slumber before carefully crawling into bed with him. It was his birthday today and she was feeling rather nostalgic about his infant years. How she wished she could've shared them with Matthew. Had she only known that he was still out there, had she known that there was any hope to be had, she would've waited.

* * *

**September 21, 2015**

The Abbey was just as he remembered. Some things don't change. Downton Abbey never changed. The bricks and spires have stood tall and resolute for hundreds of years, long before he arrived, and God willing, long after he dies. This was once his home. This was once the center of his life, where he had adopted a family, found love, and dreamed of a future. That was then. Now, despite Robert's insistence to the opposite, he was a stranger to this house. He visited on occasion and he was received with welcoming arms. But the fact remained, this wasn't his home anymore.

Carrying a medium sized boxed, covered with neat wrapping paper and a yellow bow, he made his way through the front door. No one was there to greet him but of course the staff must've had their hands full with the party in the back. That was fine with him. He needed the time to steady his nerves and harden his resolve. He always liked walking through the big house alone at night, observing the intricacies of the stonework and the numerous paintings on the wall.

But his moment of serenity was cut short by a familiar voice.

"Matthew!"

Matthew turned around to look in the direction of the voice. He was handsome, that much Matthew could admit. And he was taller than Matthew. He had dark hair, neatly combed, and an irresistibly charming smile. He walked with the confidence of a man who had everything. He did everything. Henry Talbot, had everything Matthew wanted.

"Matthew, it's good to see you my friend," he said as he took Matthew's hands in his.

"It's good to see you too, Henry," Matthew replied.

"Come, we're so pleased you could make it."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Listen, while you're here," Henry said with a hint of anxiousness in his voice. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What is it?"

"It's only that… we haven't quite told George everything yet and I think it would be best if you didn't reveal yourself today," Henry said.

"You mean that I'm his father?" Matthew asked.

"I'm his father," Henry replied. "That is… not to say that you aren't. And this is not to say that you don't have a right to know him, just… not today. I don't want any awkwardness, this is a party afterall."

Matthew would be lying to himself if he wasn't hurt deeply by the request. But ultimately, he understood Henry's point of view. He was a child, and this situation was confusing enough for the adults. He didn't want to distract from George's birthday festivities. This day was about him after all, not Matthew.

"Of course," Matthew reluctantly agreed.

"Thank you for understanding. Now come," Henry said as he held out his hand. "Everyone is waiting."

Of course no one was waiting for him. Henry didn't mean any disrespect by it. But it was quite a large gathering so no one noticed when Matthew upon his arrival. He stealthily put his gift on the table with the others. Realizing the number of them and the size of some of them, he suddenly felt rather ashamed of the football that he had bought for George. He ripped the from tag off of the ribbon and stuffed in his pocket. He still wanted George to have something from him, even if he was embarrassed by the inadequacy of the gift.

There were quite a few people, more than he had expected, most of whom were unfamiliar to him. There were twice as many adults as there were children. Although George was not without his friends. The boy seemed to be popular and he genuinely seemed to be having a good time. To see him, his own flesh and blood, so young and innocent, having fun and playing with his peers, brought tears to Matthew's eyes.

Perhaps he had been staring too long, perhaps he just didn't notice the passage of time when he watched George play.

"He's got your eyes," her voice came from behind him.

Startled, he turned around to look at her. She smiled back at him warmly.

"And your laugh," Mary said as she approached. Dressed in a beautiful sundress, her eyes obscured by sunglasses. He had forgotten how glamorous she was and how intimidating she could be. There was a private Mary, and a public Mary. He was lucky enough to have known both.

"He's perfect," Matthew replied.

"Indeed, he is," Mary said as she took his place beside him.

Standing a respectable distance apart, making sure that nothing salacious or gossip-worthy could be read into their interactions.

"Do you want to introduce yourself?" Mary asked.

"Truth be told, I'm rather nervous about it," Matthew said. "I've been… terrible. I've been absent. What if he hates me?"

"He doesn't hate you," Mary replied.

"He has every reason to."

"But he doesn't."

"Henry and I think it would be best if we hold off on telling him," Matthew said.

"Henry and I?" Mary asked quizzically. "Since when do you and my husband share so much in common?"

"He genuinely cares about George. Don't you think so?" Matthew asked.

"Of course I do."

"He's an honourable man," Matthew said. "He's always been honest and straightforward with me. I don't doubt his intentions."

Even with her sunglasses on, Matthew could tell when Mary was furrowing her brow. It was her instinct to do so when she didn't have an immediate response.

"I think you're just afraid."

"Perhaps, I am," Matthew said.

Her voice deepened. "You didn't use to scare so easily, Matthew."

She dug her heel into the ground in frustration before turning and walking away. She was right about him. He had become timid. Six years could do a lot ot a man. Especially one in captivity, where all hope had been beaten out of him. He didn't know how to live, how to love, how to want anything anymore. To live was to experience pain, to love was to suffer, to want was to be denied. These were the lessons his captors had imbued into his spirit endlessly for six long years. He had changed, the Matthew Crawley that she had fallen in love with was dead. Perhaps, this was what she needed. To see him as the coward that he had become so that she could finally let go and move on.

_Goodbye, my love._

He watched her walk away.

* * *

He stared at his shoes. His face constrained in thought. She was waiting for an answer. He was thinking about how he should word it. He would not lie to her or downplay his actions but he had a right to his opinion and he didn't think he was wrong.

"Yes," he finally answered. "I did tell Matthew to hold off on revealing his secret to George."

"Secret!?" Mary replied furiously. "It's not a secret, he IS George's father!"

"I'm not denying that," Henry replied firmly. "And I don't mean to keep George away from his father. But I'm his father too. I was there when he wasn't, I raised that boy! I tucked him in at night, read him his bedtime stories! Took him to school! He wasn't there for any of that!"

"He was stuck in a cave, halfway around the world!"

"And thank God that he's back, really. I'm glad for him, but that doesn't mean he gets to supplant me just because he's back," Henry replied.

"That's not what he's doing," Mary protested.

"Think about this from my perspective, Mary," Henry said. "I've lived in the shadow of this man for years. Always tip-toeing around his name, around your relationship with him. You never talk about him, you never talk about your relationship with him, or the years that you were together. Everyone needs their secrets, I get that. But you have to understand how that makes me feel."

There was a pause between them. They had been married long enough to know when to calm down and take a step back when arguments got too heated. Both were strong characters and neither wanted to say something they would regret.

"Do you still love me?" Henry asked.

"Of course I still love you!"

"Do you still love him?"

She knew what it would mean for her to pause.

"Of course not. Matthew will always have a place in my heart, but I'm with you now. I'm your wife, and you're my husband. I've moved on."

She wasn't sure if she had lied or not. She did just berate Matthew for being scared and she definitely was frustrated with his timidness. But before she could fully figure it out, Henry had rushed forward and kissed her passionately, his hands wrapping around her waist and picking her up. He carried her over to the bed and plopped her down. His hands ran up her bare thighs and pushed up her dress.

"Wait," Mary said breathlessly. "What about the party?"

"They can wait," Henry replied.

* * *

Matthew eventually made the rounds and spoken to everyone. That was, everyone that he knew. Robert and Cora were, of course, glad to see him out and about. He had a brief conversation with Edith and Sybil about what they were up to since last he visited. But for the most part he kept to himself, stayed to the edge of the party and mostly watched.

After a while, Mary and Henry reemerged from inside, just in time to open presents. Matthew keenly observed as, one after another, the presents were opened. Once it got to his, he became nervous wreck. When Mary noticed that there was no name tag, she asked the crowd who it was from. Matthew was too ashamed to claim it was his. She was right about him, he had become a coward. Surprisingly, George seemed to like the present. He even demonstrated for the adoring crowd his rudimentary dribbling. Matthew couldn't restrain his tears.

As the party wound down and the guest began to leave. Matthew sat himself at a distance from what remained of the party with a beer, watching the sunset. Overall, despite all of his anxiety, seeing George's exuberance and joy made it all worth it. He didn't need to be at the center of his life, so long that he knew his son was happy. And he seemed to be very happy. Who was he to interfere in that?

He watched as Mary, Henry, and George as they took turns passing the ball to each other. They looked perfect together, all three of them, absolutely beautiful and perfectly happy. It should've been him, and perhaps, if things had turned out differently, it could've been. He had given up everything for Mary and for George. Now their future was secure, both financially and emotionally. He succeeded. They had a life, one that didn't involve Matthew. It was time he accepted that. He had spent too long dwelling on what could have been. It was time to let go.

Henry noticed Matthew sitting in the distance, watching them. The two men stared at each other. They understood each other. One had won and the other had lost. Henry had everything Matthew ever wanted. He had his family living in his house. But both knew, that it had to be this way. With only a stare Matthew said:

_Look after them. I love them so much._

Henry replied with a slight nod.

_Understood, I will._

_To be continued..._


	4. Hot Soup, part 3

_Hot Soup, part 3_

Something had changed. She didn't know what exactly, but it was undeniable. Her mind often wandered now in a way that it never did before. She had become distracted. Distracted by work, distracted by George's schooling situation, distracted by Sybil's latest misadventure, and perhaps, just maybe, by the reemergence of Matthew Crawley in her life.

It's not that she didn't want it or didn't want him. Her husband was just as handsome and desirable as he had always been. A dashing gentleman, dark and tall, with tones arms and a commanding thrust. He always had a slew of female fans wherever he went, at every race, he competed in. Many of them even asked for him to sign their breasts. He was polite and did so from time to time. Mary always wondered how much he enjoyed the attention. But he was honourable enough and had always been faithful to her so she never brought it up. In fact their lust for him fueled hers. At least it usually did.

She clung tightly onto his back as he entered her, her breaths synchronized with his thrusts. Occasionally, she even moaned, but quietly as not to wake George. Moments, later, they were done and Henry climbed off of her. Looking refreshed and invigorated, Mary climbed underneath the sheets and wrapped herself in them. She smiled adoringly at Henry as he put on his shirt.

"Will I have a chance to see you tonight?" Mary asked.

"I don't think so, my dear," Henry said as he buttoned up his shirt. "After the doctors, I'll be heading off to Russia right after lunch."

"So soon?"

"You know how these things are, I don't know the Russian track quite as well as I do some of the others, I need as much time as I can get to prepare," Henry said as he leaned over and kissed Mary on the cheek.

"Well, that's unfortunate," Mary said looking a little disappointed.

Mary lingered around in bed for a little while longer after Henry had departed just to make sure that he was actually gone. Once she was satisfied that he had not forgotten anything and would not be back, she rushed into the bathroom, locked the door, stipped out of her silk robe, turned on the shower and jumped in. Wetting her hair, and feeling the hot droplets of water upon her skin, she began to breathe heavily. Her mind was elsewhere, she tried not the acknowledge it. She tried to distract herself from the truth, focusing on every little mundane detail in her life. But her body knew, her fingers knew. They slowly traveled from her stomach to her thighs and in between. Her knees began to shake. Her chest began to heave. She was begging to be touched. But not by Henry.

"_Matthew."_

* * *

She was paying attention. Well, she was half paying attention. It was just a little hard, as she kept getting lost in those perfectly blue eyes. She couldn't help but stare. She had to constantly remind herself that she was actually having a conversation with the man and instinctively replied with a _mhmm_ or an _of course_, whenever natural pauses arose in his speech patterns. She caught herself pushing her hair behind her ear, smiling whenever he did, and swaying gently. She didn't mean to flirt with him. It just happened, perhaps he had compelled her somehow. She definitely wouldn't put it passed this charming stranger.

"And now I'm back," Matthew said with a jolly lilt in his voice. "I know it's quite the long story. It's rather awkward to say out loud, really."

"Oh no, it's quite the journey you've been on," Victoria said as she ran her hands threw her blonde tresses if only because flipping it would have seemed too obvious. "You poor thing. I had no idea."

But of course she did have some idea. All of them did, to some degree or another, even if they didn't quite have all the details. Matthew was oblivious to it, given that he didn't spend much time with those of his would be social circle. But they knew of him. Mary's friends knew of him. They were there,at least peripherally, when Mary was in mourning for Matthew after he had disappeared. It was all anyone could talk about for months. But soon, everyone moved on and eventually so did Mary. She found Henry and learned to love and be happy again. So it was quite a big shock, not only to her, but to all of London society when Matthew "arose from the dead". And for the first few weeks, as Matthew appeared outside the school, waiting to pick George up, all they (the mothers, wives of Russian oligarchs, bankers, and aristocrats alike) could do was watch him with the utmost curiosity.

He was a fine specimen of a man, or so they liked to joke when they whispered comments to each other, all the while leering at him from across the courtyard of the school. Something about being near a school gave them the impulse to act like school girls. They collectively marveled at his stature, his easy smile, and his beautiful blue eyes. They gossiped and speculated about him, he seemed remarkably calm and amiable, considering the rumours they had heard about his time in captivity.

But of course none of them knew a thing about his life or his time in Afghanistan. He was, or he had been quite the mess when he first arrived back in England after six years of being held captive. He had to learn from Robert that his mother had died in his absence, that Mary had moved on, and that he had been declared legally dead. If it wasn't for Robert's intervention, he wouldn't even have his house in London to live in. He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't devastated. But of course, he understood that the world did not revolve around him and that life must go on. In the end, he was glad to see to see that life did on go on. Even if it was without him.

But it wasn't an easy or quick process. For the first few months, he cried himself to sleep. Eventually however, slowly but surely, he began to pick up the pieces of what was left of his life and tried to build something from the ground up. It wasn't that he had stopped hurting or was any less miserable He just decided that the world didn't want to see it nor should they have to it. Burying that deep inside his mind, he put that anguish to good use.

None of the high end law firms in the city would hire him. He was too old and out of practice. So he got a job as a public defender for the Legal Aid Agency. It wasn't much, but he didn't need much. He still had some friends in Aegis, who couldn't offer him anymore overseas work, nor did Matthew have any great desire to go back, but they did have a position as a part time firearms instructor, which Matthew jumped at. Outside of work, he focused on getting healthy again. Both physically and mentally. He began attending survivor's group therapy sessions and learned how to process through his guilt, his pain, and his regrets. Even if he couldn't fully free himself of it, he learned how to effectively manage it in his daily life. His daily life then became about routine and discipline. He focused on learning how to cook for himself as he had no one around to look after him in that respect anymore. He bought himself a chin up bar, some old dumbbells, and a skipping rope, and set up a home gym. He vigorously began to work out at least once a day, sometimes more when he felt his anxiety or overly emotional one those days. It wasn't much of a life, indeed it was a lonely insular existence, filled with books and old vinyl records from his youth, but it was better than what it was before. And more importantly, he was in control of it. Even if he ad no one to share it with.

"Well, why would you?" Matthew asked jokingly.

"Well, Mary had mentioned you once or twice," Victoria answered.

"Oh really?"

"It was more in passing, she's uuhhh… rather secretive about you. Now I know why."

"And what is that?" Matthew asked with a devilish grin.

"Oh no, I only meant…" Victoria instinctively replied with some fluster in her voice. "That I wouldn't feel comfortable sharing such... an intimate story, if I were in her position."

"Well, I'm not ashamed of it."

"Oh, I'm not saying that you should be," Victoria replied awkwardly. "Gosh, I don't know why I'm being like this all of the sudden. I only meant that, we see you here twice a week, always perfectly on time, always waiting patiently, never talking to anyone. I just didn't think that you were the type to be so open about your life."

"Well, my life is my life," Matthew said "I've tried running away from it. That failed spectacularly. In the end, you can go on lying to yourself or acknowledging who you really are. Both are perfectly fine ways of living, people do it all the time everyday. I'm more partial to the truth, myself."

"Well, you have an extraordinary sense of confidence, I'll say that," Victoria said. "But I suppose that's to be expected of a man who has gone through as much as you have."

"I wouldn't go that far," Matthew replied with a demure smile.

"Modest as well," she rolled her eyes.

The bell rang signalling the official end of the school day. Not a moment after the big doors swung open and like a flood, little children as young as five years old and as old as twelve came pouring out from the inside. Both Matthew and Victoria watched for their charges. They didn't have to wait long George came stumbling out of the school, with his little green backpack, and his shoelaces untied. Matthew rushed to meet his son, knelt down in front of him, and quickly did up to laces before he could trip on them. Matthew then reached in and gave George a big hug which George returned with equal enthusiasm.

"Hey buddy, how was school today? DId you learn anything?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, we learned how to add pennies!" George replied.

"You learned how to add pennies?!" Matthew asked back with heightened but genuine interest. "Are you any good at it?"

"Yes!" George said as he threw his hands up into the air and popped backwards a little.

"Can you help me count the change when we go get ice cream?" Matthew asked.

"Yes!" George replied again with even more enthusiasm this time.

And as if something had come across George's mind at that exact moment, he dropped all thoughts of ice cream and turned towards Victoria. He put his hands to his side, and cleared his voice before he spoke.

"I almost forgot. Adelle is staying behind to help Ms. Granger clean up. We were making crafts today and someone spilled some glue. She told me to tell you that," George said formally, as if a courier delivering a message.

"Thank you for telling me, George," Victoria replied with a warm smile.

"Ready to go, buddy?" Matthew asked as he stood up and held out his hand for George.

George nodded as he took his father's hands. They waved goodbye to Victoria before handing off towards the ice cream shop that Matthew always took George to when it was his day of the week to pick him up from school.

* * *

Mary hated days like this. She supposed that most people who love them but she hated idleness. At least, had ever since Matthew disappeared. She found that is was a not good for her to sit around and have nothing to do. Two of her morning meetings had been canceled inexplicably so she had a remarkably light day at work. She had a quick lunch with Edith before they got back to the office. Once there she spent another hour or so getting things in line before she had to leave for Russia.

She left work early and figured that she was early enough to probably pick up George from school. The limo pulled up to the front of the school not 10 minutes after class had been dismissed. Her driver pulled to a stop at the edge of the road, just a few feet away from the main courtyard of the school, and helped Mary out of the back seat.

The crowds were almost gone, the afternoon rush of parents and children was a boisterous affair but a brief one. There were only a few dozen children still playing in the schoolyard, presumably waiting to be picked up, or older ones that just had nowhere else to go but weren't quite ready to go home. She ran into Victoria and her daughter Adelle coming out of the school.

"Mary!" Victoria said as she enthusiastically waved.

"Hello, Victoria, it's good to see you again," Mary said politely as they made their way over.

"Aren't you going to say hi?" Victoria asked her daughter.

"Hi, Lady Mary!" The little girl said.

"Oh, aren't you adorable!" Mary said as she knelt down to greet Adelle. "No one calls me that anymore, you'll make me blush!"

"Manners are important, aren't they?" Victoria asked Adelle.

Adelle nodded affirmatively.

But of course, manners could be a weapon. Mary knew that as well as anybody. She was quite adept at it. But so was Victoria. And judging by her overly enthusiastic greeting, something was on her mind.

The two had never been the best of friends. They were cordial, even chummy with each other whenever they ran into each other. Which was often as they ran in the same social circle. Her grandfather made the family fortune with British Petroleum post-WWII and she ended up marrying into another banking family. In absolute terms, she was far more wealthy than Mary, although that never stopped her from considering Mary a rival. Perhaps it was because Mary was a up and coming designer, as well as having modeled once or twice herself in her halcyon youth, while Victoria hadn't done much with her life other than marrying rich. Victoria was not unattractive, indeed she wa never sort of a male companion but when the two went head to head, whether at a club back when they were young and stupid in their university days or at a formal dinner part of one their parents' (or parents' acquaintances), Mary always won.

"Have you seen George?" Mary asked.

"Yes," Victoria answered. "He's quite the sweet boy. Much like his father."

And there it was. The twinkle in her eyes, the raised eyebrow, the slightly up curled lip.

"Yes, he's quite sweet." Mary feigned ignorance. "Now, can you tell me where he is?"

"He went off with Matthew," Victoria said. "Took him for ice cream."

"In this weather?" Mary asked.

"Well, it seems to be their little ritual, whenever he comes to pick him up."

"Well that explains George's appetite these days," Mary remarked.

"Oh lighten up, Mary. Boys will be boys. And they'll want what they want. You can't hover of them like that. You can't watch them, not all the time," Victoria said cheekily.

Mary didn't dignify Victoria's taunting with a response. It would be a waste of breath. Instead she merely rolled her eyes and walked away.

* * *

Matthew and George sat atop some rather tall bar stools, with their scoops of ice cream in front of them, facing the window looking out onto the busy street. George got two big scoops of Rocky Road drenched in sprinkles. Matthew had a rather small scoop of vanilla. Of which, George managed to take several big bites out of. They sat, father and son, watching people as they went by, talking about what he had learned in school and what was going on in his life. Of course George wasn't very descriptive, but every little bit was music to Matthew's ears.

"Will you move in with us?" George asked as he shoveled into his mouth another giant spoonful of Rocky Road.

"I don't think so," Matthew answered awkwardly.

"Why not?" George asked. "Don't you like me?"

"Of course I do," Matthew said as he put his hand on George's golden head.

"How come you can't come live with us? Aren't momma and papa supposed to live together?"

"Not always," Matthew answered regretfully. "Besides, you already have a papa who lives with you."

"That's true," George said absently. "But sometimes, I wish you were there instead."

"Oh, you only say that because I buy you ice cream every Tuesday and Thursday," Matthew laughed.

"Do you like Adelle's mom?" George asked.

"What? Where is this coming from?"

"You were talking to her today," George answered.

"Grown ups talk," Matthew answered. "It's polite."

"I know, but she was laughing a lot."

"Was she?" Matthew asked.

George nodded enthusiastically, still with his little red plastic spoon sticking out of his mouth.

"I like your mother," Matthew said.

"I think she likes you too," George replied.

And as if summoned by the mere mention of her. Mary walked into the little ice cream shop and stared at both of them with a disapproving glare. Both Matthew and George recoiled instinctively at Mary's demeanour, hands on her hips, legs slightly apart, those cold merciless eyes. One of them was in trouble, possible both.

"So this is where you take my son after school is it?" Mary asked. "You know he hasn't been eating dinner properly. Now I know why."

"Oh come on, Mary," Matthew pleaded. "Can't I treat my boy to something nice. I don't get to see him very often."

Mary relented and relaxed her shoulders. She felt guilty about their current arrangement. Two days a week for about an hour was not what she had envisioned Matthew's involvement in George's life would be like. But it was a process, a gradual process, she kept telling herself. They had already had disagreements about George and schooling, had she didn't want to refight those old battles. Besides, she had mostly lost those battles anyways. Probably due to her guilt. She wasn't really angry at Matthew anyways. On the contrary, it warmed her heart seeing the two of them bond. It was everything she had ever wished for. No, her little run in with Victoria, despite her best efforts, had gotten to her.

"Alright, alright, you win," Matthew said as he raised his hands in surrender. "I promise no more ice cream after school."

No, it's fine," Mary said, softening her tone. "I'm sorry. I've just had... a rather rough day."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Matthew said softly. "Here, take this. It'll cheer you up. Isn't that right George?"

George enthusiastically nodded as Matthew passed the remainder of his ice cream to Mary.

"Now come, sit down, and relax." Matthew said as he got out of his seat and gave it to Mary.

"Aren't you staying?" Mary asked.

"No, no, you're right," Matthew said as he threw on his leather jacket like it was cape. "We shouldn't wander around after school like this. It's your time with George now. Take care of her for me, bud."

"Yes sir!" George exclaimed.

Before she could muster up the words to ask him to stay, he was gone . Mary watched helplessly as he glided out the doors and disappeared into the thick of the London crowds. It didn't escape her notice that her pulse had quickened, her breathing had grew heavy, her mouth was dry, and that she felt knots in her stomach, although she tried hard to put it out of her mind. She couldn't, she wouldn't feel these things. Not again. Her life was complicated enough as it was. And judging by his swift departure, he felt much the same. There as a time that he would've instinctively asked what was wrong, and prodded her for every detail of her day in a desperate attempt to cheer her up. No longer, it seemed. He had made the hard choice, the right choice. He was moving on.

But she couldn't shake the feeling, as much as she tried. And Victoria's not so subtle taunts drove her mind into a frenzy. _No, Matthew would never go for a girl like Victoria._ She tried to reassure herself. He was much too sophisticated for her. But she wasn't delusional and she certainly wasn't blind. She noticed him. She _noticed _him in the shower just this morning. She wasn't the only one. She saw the way that some of the other moms leered at him the few times he had caught up with him at George's school. Sure, Matthew wasn't husband material but that wouldn't stop any of them from taking him to bed should the opportunity ever present itself. A single, tall, blonde, wounded military hero, with a gentle heart, beautiful blue eyes, who absolutely adored his young son, what woman in her right mind could resist that?

_Stop._ She chastised herself. She was with Henry now. She made her choice. She had no claim to Matthew anymore. He was a free man now. Free to do whatever to whomever he wanted. It just so happened she wanted _whomever _to be her.

Mary took a small bite of his ice cream.

_To be continued..._


	5. Hot Soup, part 4

_Hot Soup, part 4_

He was, ultimately, in every way Matthew's son. Matthew had never doubted that. Nor had Mary ever tried to deceive about that. But seeing the boy, up close, in all of his precious beauty, he felt it. This was his son. And he couldn't be more proud. It had taken him months to get to this point. Months of persistence and struggle, against Mary, against Henry, but most of all against his own insecurities. But in the end, it was worth it. It was worth everything to have a relationship with his son, to be close enough for him to stay over at his place for a weekend.

There was a time, right when he got back from Afghanistan, when he thought he would never be fit to be a father. Thinking back to the man he was when the US military handed him over, he only wished he could go back and assure himself that things would get better. Not that his former self would've believed him. That man had given up hope to survive. Learning that process was long and filled with setbacks.

But in the end, he made it. Against all odds, he had finally arrived home. It wasn't without loss and it wasn't without damage. His life had been torn asunder, his wife had moved on, his mother had passed, but at least, he had his son. A beautiful young boy that adored and love him. What more could he ask for?

He slept so peacefully in his new bed that Matthew had just a couple of days before spent an entire afternoon assembling. Matthew had read to him from The Hobbit just before he dozed off. That was ten minutes ago. He knew that he should probably turn off the light and let George sleep but he wanted to watch him for a bit longer. He had missed so many years of his life, he had missed so many opportunities to watch his son sleep. In his own way, he was making up for lost time.

* * *

He had a blissful smile on his face as he came down the stairs. It was nice to see him happy again. It had been so long, she had almost forgotten what it was like. His joy had been infectious, his smile inspiring. She found out, early on in their courtship, that something about his happiness made it impossible for her to feel any different. He still had that effect on her these days.

Entering the kitchen, he was a little surprised, but not unpleasantly so, that Mary was still there, seemingly waiting for him. She had to admit, it was a little bit odd to be there, alone, without servants, or friends, or family, or Henry. It reminded her of things she knew she shouldn't be remembering. But she couldn't help herself. If nothing else, she just wanted to feel nostalgic. How wrong could that be?

To soft warm glow of the kitchen spotlights illuminated her in the most splendid fashion. It's yellow-orange hue brought out her natural but subdued warmth; a quality that was often overlooked. But it was quiet and still, and without the resplendency of Downton, without the conditional glamour of her at an F1 event or Paris Fashion Week, all that was left was a Mary Talbot that was almost unknown and even less understood to all. Least of all herself.

But Matthew knew her. Even if they couldn't connect on the same intimate level anymore. Even if they had to confine their conversations to polite small talk, George, and to general business of her career, the family business, and the races of her husband, Matthew could still take solace that the Mary that she was knew, was not gone completely.

"You're still here," Matthew said as he gathered the dishes from the drying rack to put away.

"Should I not be?" Mary asked as she leaned against the kitchen island.

"Of course you can be here," Matthew said as he put the dishes away in the cupboard. "But George is sound asleep, he's fine. You don't have to worry about him. I'm not _that_ incompetent."

"No one said you were," May replied. "I just wanted to stick around just to make sure everything was fine."

"Well…" Matthew said as he turned around and leaned against the counter. "I think everything is fine."

Mary smiled and looked down.

"I've overstayed my welcome."

"Of course that's not what I meant," Matthew said as he moved over to the island. "But you can trust me with George. I hope that you do, at least."

"You know I do," Mary said looking up at him. "But I've put George to bed myself for the past six years. Forgive a mother for having trouble loosening her grip."

"It's understandable," Matthew said. "You don't need my forgiveness."

Mary smiled again. As if it was almost an obligation. It was blatantly obviously that Matthew was a loving and capable father. But there were things that could not be spoken between them anymore. So she shrouds her intentions in pretense, mystery, and excuses. Is this what he deserved? To have her hanging around, soaking up as much of his good will as was politely possible? To remind him of what he had lost? Just so she can bathe in fond memories of a past so distant, it might as well be another life? Certainly not, but she had her needs too.

In the past few months, she had come to a slow but haunting epiphany. There was a difference between being content and being happy. She was the former, while having given up on the latter. And she supposed, if she could be that honest with herself, that what she was doing in his house late at night, while her husband was at home, was trying to recapture happiness, or some small morsel of it.

"Long day?" Matthew asked.

"What? Oh no, at least, no longer than usual," Mary replied as she tried to sound casual. "And having to work with Edith is just as tedious as it sounds."

"But at least you are working with her."

"Well, what can I do? She's the editor. I'm the designer. The power is decidedly in her favour. She's loving it too."

"Still, I remember a time when you would've burned your shop and her magazine down just so she couldn't have the satisfaction," Matthew said with a chuckle.

"Did you always think me so petty?" Mary rolled her eyes at him.

"No," Matthew said as he reached took out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. "I'm merely pointing how the changes that I've noticed. I was gone for six years after all."

Mary watched as Matthew uncorked the bottle and began to pour. "Not for the worse, I hope."

"No, not for the worse," Matthew confirmed as he pushed over a glass to Mary.

"But different still…" Mary said as she swirled her glass around before taking a sip.

"Quite different."

"Are you… disappointed? In me?" Mary asked with a slightly tremble in her voice.

"Of course not, why would you think such a thing?"

"I don't know. Perhaps, perhaps, because you wanted things to be different?"

"Mary, there are no excuses for the way I behaved when I first got back. Please, don't take any of that as a reflection of how I feel about you now. And either way there's no changing the past. And I have no right to enforce my perceptions of you onto you. Especially now," Matthew answered. "Six years is a long time. People grow and people change. Who you are now is far more than I could've ever imagined. I'm glad for you. I'm proud of you."

"Christ, Matthew. You speak of us as if we're almost strangers," Mary laughed nervously.

"In some ways, we are," Matthew answered as he took a sip of his wine. "I don't really know you anymore, Mary."

"Isn't that quite sad?"

"Let's not dwell on the things that make us sad. The important things are those that make us happy. Like George, and Henry for you." Matthew said with a melancholic smile.

"And…?"

"And what?"

"And, whom for you?" Mary asked, not so subtly. "One hears rumours, living in London. It's quite unavoidable."

"Well I am unaware of any rumour..."

"Matthew come on, you've run into Edith while on a date with a _friend _of yours. Are you really going to pretend that you're not seeing other women?" Mary pried.

"I'm not denying anything," Matthew answered as his gaze shifted away from Mary. "But it doesn't matter. Such things… I'd rather not discuss. I hope you can understand."

"Oh… of course." Mary quickly retreated.

Of course, was the only appropriate answer at that point. Despite, her unquenchable curiosity. Despite, her boiling jealousy. Was it with Victoria? With others? How many? Where? When? _How?_ Does he eat them out the way he used to do for her? Does he still fuck the same way? Matthew had always shunned his jealous instincts. He always thought that it made him weak. Things out of his control was none of his concern. But Mary was delusional to believe that she was, on some level, in control of everything in her life. Thus, she loathed the thought of the sluts who bedded her husband, ex-husband, whatever, her Matthew.

But, in the end, what right did she have to these thoughts? He was free now. He could do as he pleased. And certainly, she had her meaningless trysts after his disappearance. It seems more than reasonable that he should be allowed to blow off some steam after six years of captivity and torture. She bet that all of his women melt at his story and leapt at the opportunity to_ take care of him_. As she would have, as she felt the urge to do. Even still.

"It wasn't with Victoria, if that's what's bothering you," Matthew answered in a more serious tone of voice.

"Oh no, please, you needn't say more, I overstepped my bounds," Mary said awkwardly.

"I know that I never put too much stock into your social rivalries and concerns of such a nature," Matthew said. "But I know that it meant something to you, and I wouldn't hurt you like that."

"And the other women…" She didn't mean to say that. It just slipped out.

"What would you have me do, Mary?" Matthew asked as he straightened his posture and looked directly at her. "Chase you until the end of time?"

She didn't have an answer, stuck between what she should answer and what she wanted to, there was only silence. A silence that compounded on the already deafening silence of his kitchen. A place, she had once imagined home. Every false memory, of birthdays, and rushed early mornings, to late night snacks, flashed before her eyes. Things that never happened, things that would never happen, a painful tease of what could have been.

"You can be honest." Matthew pressed. "I'll make no guarantees, but at least I'd know."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mary brushed the question aside in a flustered manner. "Of course I wouldn't want that for you."

"But you'd want it for yourself…"

"How could I want something that would hurt someone I love? How could I want to hurt you?" Mary asked herself and him. The wine was getting to her.

"Are our feelings ever so simple?" Matthew said with a satisfied smirk as he took a sip of his wine.

"Can I ask you something then?" Mary said as she locked her gaze with his again. It was her turn.

"By all means."

"Do you really want nothing of me?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Do you really expect nothing from me? Are you telling me that you willingly sacrificed everything and want nothing in return?" Mary asked sternly, almost accusingly.

There was a moment of silence. He wasn't ready to reply immediately. Typical of Matthew, to hesitate and consider his words. He never obfuscated his emotions ever, but they always manifested themselves in his needs, very rarely in his words. Perhaps, he believed that actions spoke louder than words, or perhaps he had grown weary of the things that Mary said and only care now, what she did.

"You've let me have a relationship with George, that's not nothing," Matthew answered plainly.

"You know that's not what I mean," Mary said. "You have every right, legal or otherwise to a relationship with George—"

"Mary, why are you asking me this?" Matthew shot back.

"Because…" Mary's voice faded. "If I'd wronged you. I'd like to know."

"Mary, your guilt is your own. I have never once given you any indication that I hold any resentment over the choices you've made. You have every right to move on. To be happy. To make a life for yourself. I understand, believe me I do, that circumstances between us were tragic. It doesn't seem fair. But life isn't fair. There are no reparations, no retribution, no consolation," Matthew said with much candor and posie, as if he had been rehearsing it for months. "We can only choose life. That's it. That's all. And that's what I've learned since I've been back. What I want, I can't have and you can't give to me. Does it make me sad at times? Sure. But it doesn't help anyone to dwell on such things."

If the spotlights of the kitchen were dim enough that the tears in her eyes could be shadowed by the contours of her face, he could still hear her laboured breathing and sniffles. Perhaps he had been too harsh on her. He never meant to hurt her. He knew what it was to feel that kind of rejection, and it was the last thing that he wanted Mary to feel.

"Look, I don't mean to sound harsh," Matthew said as he reached out and took her hand into his own. "But we're different people now. And that's okay. Don't think of it as a bad thing. You're a wonderful mother, a brilliant designer, a dutiful wife. Please be proud of yourself. I certainly am."

"You're proud of me?"

"Of course, I am."

"So much for, your Mary Crawley for all eternity," Mary said despondently.

"But you're not my Mary Crawley anymore, are you?" Matthew asked with a kind smile.

"Yeah…" Mary whispered. "You don't need to remind me."

They hung around the kitchen island for a few minutes more as they finished their wine. Neither of them said very much after that. It was a little difficult to hold a conversation after that. Despite wanting to hang around a little longer, it was apparent that she spoiled the mood with her prodding questions. Matthew wasn't unkind or discourteous, but it was clear that he didn't want to discuss the subject any longer. He assured her that George was going to be fine with him and that he would help him with his homework and made sure that he would eat right, including the soup that she had brought over. He grabbed her coat for her and slid it over her shoulders as they stood in his foyer silently.

"I feel like we've been here before," Mary whispered.

"Probably, because we have," Matthew said as he gently smoothed out her coat over her shoulders.

She wasn't sure if he was doing it intentionally, but Mary soaked in every inch of pressure upon her skin. That much, he couldn't take away from her. That much, he couldn't deny her. But perhaps, there was more.

"I want to ask of you something, just one thing," Mary said as her voice trembled. "And after that, I'll leave you alone forever. I'll never bring up my insecurities and my resentments ever again, we can be polite strangers that you seem to think that we are now."

"What's that?" Matthew asked.

"Kiss me," Mary said. "Kiss me, like you used to, like when I was Mary Crawley, _your _Mary Crawley."

Matthew sighed. His face dropped as he considered her request. He didn't think the request was fair, he had worked so hard to move on and to put those old feelings in perspective with his current life. Now it seemed, all she wanted to do was dredge them back up and suffer them all over again. She had a life, she had a family, she had a career, she had influence, Why would she sabotage all of that?

But what did it matter? He wanted to. He never stopped wanting to. She had always been just out of reach. Whether it was the sea of suitors or the tragedy of circumstance, despite how he felt about her and how she felt about him, there was always something keeping them apart. Their lives today were no different. So what did it matter? If he couldn't have her. He could at least the kiss.

"Nevermin—"

His gentle lips closed in on hers, destroying her words, her disappointment, and her resolve, right then and there. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her in. She rose to her toes, her back arched, her chest expanded. That impossibly sweet embrace, how she had missed it. All memories, no matter how embellished, paled in comparison to the real thing. His arms, his chest, his heartbeat, nothing her imagination could compare to this. In that moment, she died, and rose again.

And just as quickly and unexpectedly as it had happened. It was over. His lips left hers, stealing her breath, her sanity, and her heart.

He opened the door behind her.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Talbot."

She blinked.

"Goodbye, Mr. Crawley."

_To be concluded..._


	6. Hot Soup, part 5

_Hot Soup, part 5_

**December 25th, 2015**

She satisfied every single of his physical desires, every sensuous hunger. Her hair a perfect raven black, that which he knotted his fingers through and pulled tight; her breasts, full and round and fake, that which inspired his animal lust, her legs, smooth and long and beautiful, coiled around his waist, locked at the ankles, her only means of stability against the onslaught on his unquenchable passion made manifest.

She howled, not her usual practiced moans, an imitation of a whore, but an beastly yap, much more pleasing to his ears. He remained silent the whole time, with only a furrowed brow as his expression of carnal pleasure. He looked angry. He was angry.

She collapsed on top of him. Her arms snaking around his shoulders and neck. Her breath, racing to catch up with her heartbeat. She was satisfied beyond her wildest dreams. He still burned with unending desire. She looked over at him, at his expressionless eyes, staring up at the ceiling. She kissed him gently. But she was not the one he wanted. She was a mere replacement, and a poor one at that.

She knew that. Everyone in London knew that.

There were those that were after his affection. Many have tried, all have failed. But she wasn't one of them. She just wanted to have a bit of fun. She got more than she bargained for. Usually, it was the men who came first, she wasn't used to a man so consumed with one specific desire. One that she could not fulfill.

Still she wouldn't be defeated quite so easily. As he leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes, she snaked her way down and wrapped her lips around his cock. She was Mary Talbot, but she always made her man cum. As she did what she had become quite adept at, bobbing her head up and down rhythmically, she imagined that he was picturing Mary in her place. She imagined right.

If she had to become her to momentarily satiate him, in exchange for what possibly was the wildest fuck of her life. In her mind, that was worth the trade.

_A few hours later…_

They lay in his bed, both exhausted and satisfied (for now) after a few hours of animal sex. There wasn't much physical contact between them. They rarely cuddled after sex. They used each other for base gratification, going on journeys of self and sexual exploration, but not together, not with each other in their minds.

"Do you ever stop?" she said as she playfully shoved him away.

"Why should I stop?" Matthew asked with a devilish grin as he put his hand on her bare ass.

"You don't even look like you're enjoying it half the time," she replied as she took a drag of her cigarette.

"I am… In my own way," Matthew replied.

"Christ, Matthew," she said again, releasing a puff of smoke from mouth. "You know how many men would love to fuck me?"

"What are you talking about? I do love fucking you."

"You think you're so charming don't you?" She said with an almost girlish giggle, as she leaned over and kissed him gently.

"I try…"

"No, you're fucking Mary, I just happen to be the body double," she said flatly. "I'm not stupid Matthew."

"So?" Matthew replied. There was no point in denying her accusation. They both knew the score. "What do you care? You seem to enjoy yourself."

"Oh I do," she agreed. "I certainly do."

"So, what's the problem? Let's go again?"

"Matthew, it's Christmas. Why aren't you at Downton Abbey or wherever?"

* * *

"Where's Matthew?" Robert asked as he looked accusingly at Mary.

"He said he couldn't make it," Mary replied plainly.

"Why not?"

"He said he had to work," Mary answered.

"Oh, that's nonsense. Honestly, who has to work on Christmas?"

Mary looked up from her plate and gave her father a stern look, asking him silently, though not very subtly to drop it. Robert acknowledged her and ended his line of inquiry with a sigh. She pretended not to notice but it never could escape her attention when Henry shot her a disapproving look. Those looks said more than his words sometimes.

Despite the momentary awkwardness, Christmas dinner was a rather fun pleasant affair. The traditions at Downton Abbey have barely changed for over a century. Except that now children were permitted to see at the table, which George greatly enjoyed. This year, as with all the years prior, the Crawleys gathered at Downton Abbey to celebrate Christmas and New Years. And this year, as with the previous three years, Mary, George, and Henry arrived together. But unbeknownst to the rest of the Crawley family, the circumstances of this year's visit was strained to say the least.

Mary took a quick glance over at Henry a few moments later. He did not look happy, although he tried to hide it. She did not mean to bring up Matthew but the subject seemed unavoidable these days. It seemed odd, now that Mary and Matthew had stopped seeing each other so frequently, that he should be the topic of conversation so often.

After dinner, they moved into the drawing room as part of the old traditions. Mary and Henry made a good show of it. They conversed well about their lives, how George was doing in school, what Mary was up to, how well Henry was racing, and what he was doing in the off season. They laughed at each other's jokes and did they best to try to talk around the subject of Matthew. Which wasn't particularly difficult as no one wanted to put them on the spot anyways.

They retired to their chambers early, leaving George with the rest of the family. He loved to roam around the big house and so long as someone was keeping an eye on him, neither of them had to worry. The atmosphere grew tense as soon as Mary closed the door behind her. She didn't like it. This was her room for as long as she could remember. It had always been a safe place. This was the room where she cried herself to sleep for months after Matthew had disappeared and before that the place where she prayed for his well being when he went off to war for the first time.

"That was embarrassing," Henry said annoyed, as he undid his cuff links and violently took off his dinner jacket.

"It wasn't my papa's fault, we were all thinking it," Mary said as she said down on the bed and removed her heels.

"We were all thinking it?"

"It was a miracle that Matthew turned up alive after six years of being presumed and legally dead," Mary said. "And on his first year back, he's not permitted to spend Christmas with his family? You know his mother is dead right?"

"Yes, you've told me, quite a few times," Henry said with a sigh. "And I never said he wasn't permitted. I just think it would be best for all of us if we had a little distance, so that we can build our lives. Ours and his."

"He's been living his life," Mary replied as she unzipped her dress. "He picks up George on his days. He works, and exercises, he dates. He's left us alone completely. As you like. What more can you ask of the man?"

"Then why is he always the center of our conversations?"

"It was a few questions, let it go," Mary said as she threw on her nightgown. "Papa and Matthew were very close. Closer than you are with him."

"Oh this again."

"Nevermind," Mary said as she loosened her hair and shook out all the kinks.

"It's not just here, and it's not just your father's questions," Henry said in a more passive tone.

"I know," Mary said. "He dates women. And some of the women he dates, are in our social circle. Girls talk, what do you want him to do? Live as a hermit, somewhere in the mountains? At what point is it enough for you?"

"You always seem to defend him," Henry said as he sat down on a chair. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers in frustration.

"Who else will? The man fights for king and country, not to mention his family, but never once for himself," Mary replied as she made her way into the bathroom.

"Ah yes, the impossibly galant Matthew Crawley," Henry said sardonically. "The man who can do no wrong."

"He's done plenty of things wrong in his life, look at him, he's paying the price for it now."

"He's still in love with you, you know? I hear what the girls say about him in London. When he fucks them, he calls out your name and makes no qualms about it, it's as if he wants the world to know."

Mary didn't immediately reply. Her fingers tightened around the edges of the sink. She stood there, hunched over, still, and silent. She had heard the rumours. She had even once caught one of his "conquests" slipping out the front door as she was dropping off George. Matthew tended to avoid the women in Mary's social circle out of respect for boundaries. But sometimes they would corner him.

Even if he wasn't a fancy lawyer anymore, he was still a fine specimen of a man, as they put it. He was single and those ladies were always on the prowl. They shared stories knowing that it would never get back to Matthew himself. He hadn't attended a society event, save occasional parties at Downton, since his return. But they knew that Mary would eventually hear. Perhaps, they didn't mean to her hurt, perhaps they did. It didn't matter. Hearing the words come out of Henry's mouth wounded her deeply.

Was he still in love with her? Of course he was. That's who Matthew was. A hopeless romantic, a chivalric knight, and a glutton for punishment. Simultaneously his worst and his best qualities. He would suffer for all eternity if it made her life one iota better. What a stupid and foolish man. How could she not love him?

Perhaps, she did. Perhaps she never stopped loving him.

"Perhaps he wants you to know." She heard his voice come from the bedroom.

"Nonsense," she instinctively replied with a bitter voice.

"Perhaps, you're still in love with him…"

"Henry, how many times do I have to—" She was cut of by her own shock as soon as she entered the bedroom again and saw what was in Henry's hands.

"Then how do you explain this?"

_Her birth control pills._

* * *

**December 31st, 2015**

It was a cloudy day as it so often was in London. George didn't seem to mind though. He looked out the window of his mother's Mercedes, eagerly anticipating their destination. Once the arrived, George banged on the doors until Mary let him out. He was jumpy. It was understandable. He hadn't seen Matthew in nearly a month. Mary adjusted his little fur hat before letting him run towards the door.

He knocked early.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," George heard a familiar voice say from the other side of the door.

The door opened. George leapt up as high as he could prompting Matthew to recieve his son into his arms. They shared a tender hug for a long moment. Mary watched intently, trying to hold back the tears that were welling up in the corners of her eyes. Luckily, she was wearing sunglasses.

"Papa!" George said.

"My darling son, I've missed you so much," Matthew said with an uncontrollable smile on his face.

"I missed you too! How come you didn't come to Downton for Christmas?"

"Oh well… adult stuff got in the way," Matthew tried to explain.

"Adult stuff is stupid," George commented with a huff.

"I couldn't agree more."

Mary approached a few moments later. She tried to stay composed as much as possible. She didn't not want Matthew to know what was happening between her and Henry at the moment. It wasn't his business and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing what, even without trying, the trouble that he had caused in their marriage. Besides, it was a miracle that Robert and Cora allowed Mary, Henry, and George to spend New Year's in London rather than at Downton. And it was an even bigger miracle that Henry agreed to allow George to spend New Years Eye with Matthew so that he and Mary could talk things out and plan their future, together, or otherwise.

"I hope you two have fun," Mary said as she forced a smile.

"We will!" George explained.

"That's right! We're going to go see the fireworks!" Matthew mimicked his son's excitement.

"Well, don't stay up too late," Mary warned.

"Awwwww! Mom!" Matthew and George said in unison.

Mary merely offered both of them a motherly smile before. She turned around and headed back towards the car. It had almost escaped Matthew's notice, but he could tell, by the weight of her steps and the slight hunch of her shoulders that something was not right.

"Is something going on with mom?" Matthew asked.

George merely shrugged.

"Alright, go on inside, there's sandwich and soup waiting for you in the kitchen," Matthew said as he put George down.

He breathed a deep breath trying to still his nerves. He knew better. He should leave her alone. That was their promise to each other. It made both their lives simpler. Even still, he could not leave this alone. He couldn't stand to see her like this. He approached the car cautiously and gently knocked on the window.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Christ, Matthew, you startled me," Mary said as she rolled down the window, tucking her handkerchief away.

"Look, I'm sorry about last time," Matthew said. "When Vanessa was here. I know you don't approve and I didn't mean for George to see her. It won't happen again."

"Don't apologize," Mary said as she tried to maintain her composure. "You're free to live however you wish."

"Even still, I wouldn't want to give you a reason to take George away from me," Matthew said.

"I would never do that. This arrangement with George, it's more Henry's idea than mine."

"Well, he raised George, I can understand being a little territorial," Matthew said.

"You know you could stand to be a little less understanding sometimes," Mary said with a certain sharpness in her voice. "He is your son afterall."

"I'm as much a father to him as I can be right now," Matthew said. "I don't believe I am his father simply because he shares my blood. I believe I have to earn the right ot be his father. Henry has, I haven't. Not yet."

_Stupid Matthew. Stupid noble Matthew. If you could just stop being yourself for a moment, we could all be happier_, Mary thought. Defending Henry still when Henry would do no such thing for him. He couldn't help it. It was just who he was. He didn't see anything wrong with it. He had suffered so much over the course of the last six years, he was just ecstatic just to be in George's life again. A more reasonable man would demand more out of his life. He would be bitter. He would want what is rightfully his. But that's not Matthew. Everyone else came before him. Especially Mary.

Why was she not with him again?

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded frantically, indicating the very opposite of the intended message of the gesture.

"Would you like to come inside?"

What did he just say? Weren't they supposed to be strangers? Wasn't that the agreement? Mary was stunned at the offer. She knew that she should refuse. Henry was waiting for her back at Grantham House. Their marriage was on the line after Henry had discovered her birth control pills. She had a life. She had a career. She had status and influence. She had everything she ever wanted. And Matthew gave it to her. He wanted her to have this life. He had sacrificed everything so that she could.

She couldn't ruin all of that.

Could she?

_To be concluded..._

**A/N:** I know this was supposed to be the last chapter of this story arc but I had trouble ending it. It took me a week to realize that their character arcs were no where near complete so I had to add an extra chapter. So here it is.


	7. Hot Soup, part 6

_Hot Soup, part 6_

There would be scandal, there would be gossip, and there would be those god awful looks of derision from _those_ women. And yet, even as her mind made the mental calculations, even as she ran through the messy divorce proceedings in her mind, her body was already moving. Discipline and desire, these two qualities defined her, and destroyed her. The fastidious and careful Mary Crawley, the passionate and elusive Mary Crawley, that which had perplexed the likes of Sir Richard Carlisle, to Tony Foyle, to Charles Blake, and many more, somehow was exceedingly predictable when it came to him.

"Yes," she answered.

Matthew smiled at her warmly, as he had done once a upon a time, in another life. Yet it seemed so familiar, so comfortable. He opened up the car door and helped her out. Instantly, her nerves fell away and her trembling stopped. Far from making her calm, inside she was panicking. It seemed utterly dangerous that a simple touch of his hand could do such miraculous things to her. Who was this man? And why had things gone so wrong for him? And yet, for all of his troubles, why does he seem alright?

Everything felt strange. As if she wasn't in control of her actions anymore, guided along by automated motor functions and an unexplainable desire to just be here. It felt wrong, but not in some moral way, but as if she peering into another reality, one that wasn't hers. One where she held out hope and all was well. Here, in this world, where Matthew returns home, and she waited for him. Here, where she was better, wiser, and stronger, and was rewarded for her stalwart faith.

"Hi mummy!" George said casually, as she made her way into the kitchen.

Her beautiful darling boy was sitting at the kitchen counter, his legs dangling off of the stool as he sipped on his soup and took bites out of his sandwich. Immediately, all of her unease faded away. This was here George was meant to be. She could see that clearly now. And perhaps, just perhaps, this is was where she was meant to be.

"Are you going to come with us to see the fireworks?" George asked.

She was caught a little off guard, but of course, George had a habit of being direct. Still she was rather unprepared for the question. And in her state of uncertainty, she merely locked eyes with Matthew. They seemed to smile. They seemed to smile like they did back in the old days, when they shared an inside joke or after a witty exchange. She hadn't seen those eyes in ages. But perhaps, it wasn't her that he was smiling about. Perhaps, it was merely his son that brought him such joy. George certainly did that for her.

"Oh, I don't know," Mary said. "It's your day with your papa, I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Please!" George begged as he made the most adorable eyes in the world at her. Matthew's eyes.

She looked over at him again. This time she shot him a look. An accusing look. As if to say, _did you put him up to this? Is this why you invited me in?_ He merely put his hands up to plead innocence. His eyes assured her that there was no plot and that this was not his doing.

"Well, alright," Mary answered as she relaxed and smiled. "If you insist."

"Yes!" George exclaimed in excitement, almost knocking over his bowl of soup.

They were too embarrassed to look at each other after that. But even if they couldn't reveal it, they were both quite excited about the prospect of playing house. Even if it was just for a night.

It was surprisingly easy. Sliding into their respective roles. Perhaps, because they knew it was temporary and that, however comfortable they felt about it, they both knew that it wasn't real. Some people have voracious and unquenchable sexual proclivities. They had a desperate need for a quiet and loving domesticity. Matthew prepared a second sandwich for Mary while she took a seat next to George. She tried to sneak a few sips of his soup while George was eating his sandwich only to be rebuffed every time.

"Don't worry, he doesn't let me either," Matthew said as he slid her sandwich across the table.

George replied with a big grin while chewing with his mouth open.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the living room. Matthew planned out what they were going to do that night while Mary and George played on the Wii U that Matthew had bought for George a few months ago. Mary disapproved of Matthew spoiling George but at the same time she couldn't help but love the idea of Matthew buying their son a toy that he loved. It was everything she ever wanted. She couldn't help but obsessively look over her shoulder, back at the man she loved to love (the man she still did), meticulously planning their evening out. He was still the man she remembered. Just more intense. His time away had changed him, but it hadn't destroyed him.

They left the house around 11:00 at night. George was so full of excitement and energy that he could barely sit still through dinner. It was the first meal they had ever made together. They took a taxi down to Trafalgar Square. Traffic was a nightmare and they made it with only 15 minutes to spare. It was enough time to take plenty pictures of George, George and Mary, George and Matthew, and even a couple of family portraits. Even if they dared not say the words.

Matthew hoisted George up onto his shoulders in the last minutes of the year. His little hands gripped onto Matthew's hair for balance. When they weren't looking Mary took the opportunity to take one last snapshot before the year was over. If she had to choose one moment to remember about 2015, it would be this. As the seconds counted down, Mary found it within herself to take his arm and even hold his hand. This was the life they could've had and at least for now, they did.

George had fallen asleep in the taxi on the way home. Matthew carried the boy up to his room and tucked him in as he always did. He kissed him on the forehead before turning off the light and leaving the room. Mary watched from the doorway. _How splendid they are, father and son,_ she thought.

"How long have you been watching me?" Matthew asked with a smile.

"Long enough to know that you haven't lost your singing voice," Mary replied.

"That's one of a few things you can do while holed up in a cave," Matthew replied as he closed the door behind him.

"Do you always sing to him?" Mary asked as they made their way down the stairs.

"Only when he has trouble going to sleep," Matthew answered. "Or just when I feel like it."

"You're sweet to him."

"He's my son."

"You seem to have a… selective memory when it comes to that fact."

"What do you mean?"

"You are his father," Mary said as she turned around to face him. "I feel as though, somehow, you're ashamed of that."

"I suppose I am," Matthew replied flatly, clearly uninterested in having the conversation that Mary was trying to force.

"Why?" Mary asked frustratingly.

"I wasn't…" Matthew sat down on a stool. His knuckles tightened, his expression suddenly changed. "I wasn't… I wasn't here for him…"

"Matthew!" Mary said as she sat down on the stool next to him. "That is not your fault."

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," Matthew said. "All that matters is that I wasn't there and he was…"

"Henry?"

Matthew nodded. "He raised him in my absence. He took care of him, provided for him, looked after him. In so many ways, he is more his son than mine."

"Don't say that!"

"It's true. Circumstances don't excuse our shortcomings…"

"That's ridiculous Matthew! I won't hear it."

"Fine, I didn't want to talk about it anyways," Matthew said as he got up from the stool and made his way into the living room.

"You know, I'm getting really tired of this act of yours," Mary said as she followed a few steps behind.

"What act is that?" Matthew asked, as if completely disinterested in the answer.

"The suffering martyr! Saint Matthew, who sacrificed himself for the sake of his son and his wife, who by some miracle was brought back to life, only to live alone, in his cave, throwing his misery in everyone's faces! You enjoy the pity, you feed off of it!" Mary shouted, perhaps a little too loudly and without a little too much passion.

"Is that what you think of me?" Matthew asked quietly, as if to remind her that they had a child sleeping upstairs.

"What else am I supposed to think?" Mary relented. "You know I thought it was a miracle when you first came back. I thought all of our problems would just go away. But instead, we're just as stuck as we ever were… still just as miserable, still just as lonely, it's as if you never came back…"

"Is that what you want?" Matthew asked.

"Of course not, haven't you been listening?"

"Yes, I have. I make you miserable, I understand."

"Stop doing that!" Mary again raised her voice. "You're defeating yourself!"

"Because I can't be defeated by you anymore!" Matthew replied loudly.

"What are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why won't you talk to me?"

"You don't want to hear it. And you shouldn't have to. You're with Henry now. He's a good man. And you've built a good life without me. You are right. I would only bring you misery."

"I didn't say that, you did," Mary said. "Is this what all of this is about? Is this about Henry and me?"

He couldn't look at her. He didn't want her to see the hurt in his eyes, the pain that had tortured him for six years, the pain that kept him awake and night. It was so petty. She had every right to move on. That's what he would've wanted for her if he had died. And she thought he had. She had done nothing wrong. And yet, it didn't hurt any less.

"I love my son. I would do anything for him. And I'm trying to make up for the years I've missed. But I don't want to be around you anymore," Matthew answered.

He was lying. Not to Mary, but to himself. She knew that look. That look in his eyes, it was the same look that he had after their first kiss, after the first time they made love. He still loved her.

"I'm sorry but that's bullshit…" Mary replied plainly. "You still love me. You're just too afraid to admit it to yourself."

Matthew didn't reply.

"Nothing to say?" Mary asked, pressing her advantage. Stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Shall I take your silence as an admission?"

"What does it matter? You're married to another."

"Why won't you fight for me?"

"Because I know I will lose," Matthew answered.

"What makes you say that?" She whispered. Mary took another step closer. She reached up and gently caressed his face. "What makes you so sure I would choose him over you?"

"Because you're right, I can't help but love you…" Matthew said with a quaking voice, his resolve crumbling under the warmth of her touch. "And I know you're better off with him."

"Stop! Stop doing that!" Mary said as she grimaced. "You can't decide that for me!"

"Six years, Mary!" Matthew shouted back. "Six years in captivity. You can't begin to imagine what that's like! I'm not the man you knew. And I don't think you'd like who I've become…"

"Have you so little faith in me, Matthew?" Mary asked as she began to cry. "Am I so fickle that I would abandon you in this?"

"You already have…"

She took a step backwards, her hands dropped to her sides. His word stung her deeply. On some level, she had always known this. Perhaps, this was why she always defended him with Henry. Perhaps, she was trying to assuage her guilt. She was too weak willed to end things with Henry as soon as Matthew returned. Somehow, she thought she could fit Matthew into her life and compartmentalize him. She wanted him around, but she also wanted Henry. She didn't want to undo everything she had built in the intervening six years. But this wasn't just about the past six years, trying and difficult as it was. This was about their entire relationship. He had always fought for her. Never the other way around. And every man has a breaking point. It was remarkable that he even made it this far.

"I think you should leave," Matthew said.

He handed her coat to her. This time he didn't offer to put it on. She made her way to the door. She placed her hand on the doorknob and looked back one last time. He was still standing there, in the stewing in his own misery. Just the way he liked it. Perhaps, he was right about her all along.

No, she wouldn't accept that. She wouldn't live up to the monster that she had become in his mind. He resented her. She could understand why. But he was wrong about her. And she would prove it.

She locked the door. Matthew looked up in surprise. She approached with a newfound determination. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pushed him down onto his couch. She promptly straddled him and pinned his hands down. She would not allow him to resist her in this. She leaned in slowly. Their lips met in white hot passion, six long years of desire and longing collided into a torrent of skin and saliva. It was debaucherous. It was tender. It was loving. It was all of those things and more.

Much more.

And when she finally broke their first kiss in six years, he asked, "Mary, what are you doing?"

"Fixing you," Mary replied.

Matthew reached up and gently brushed the hair out of her face so that he could see her better. There was passion in her eyes, a passion he hadn't seen in quite some time.

"I'm not sure if you can do that…" Matthew said.

"You might be right about me but I don't want to be the girl you imagine me to be. I am… weak, I am… indecisive… and selfish… and scared… even if you're too damn honourable to say the words. I know how you feel. But I don't want to be her anymore. I want to be better. You've always made me want to be better. It's time I did something about it."

"Mary, it's not you…" Matthew said. "It's me, I am… I am a mess. I'm not sure what kind of husband I can be to you."

"I know… but I don't need you to be perfect, Matthew," Mary replied. "I've never asked that of you. If I've inspired you to be that, know that you've done the same to me. It's just that I've never been much good at putting others before myself. But I want to try now, I just need you to give me a chance. You've fought for me for as long as we've known each other. Now, it's my turn."

"What about Henry?"

"I closed that door when I entered yours."

_To be concluded..._

**A/N:** Yeah, yeah, there's yet another chapter. Sue me. There's SMUT coming up, so you wanna complain about it or do you want more to read?


	8. Hot Soup, part 7

**A/N:** Ummm... smut warning. No seriously... SMUT WARNING! I don't know how many times I can say this! Turn around now! No? Well, you have been warned. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

_Hot Cereal, part 7_

"You don't have to say anything."

She didn't.

She didn't have anything prepared. It wasn't for lack of effort or even heartless deviance. It was just an inevitability that she had to come to grips with. It was hard, the hardest thing she ever had to do. She did love him. That was the difference. That's what separated Henry from Carlisle, from Pamuk, from Foyle, from Blake, and all of the others. Henry was her husband and she knew what she was doing to him. And she didn't want to. If she had the ability to make this hurt any less, she would.

But she can't, because that would've meant that he didn't love her. And he loved her madly. It was the main reasons Matthew kept away for all of those months. He knew that Mary and George were in good hands and that, considering all possible alternatives, he couldn't think of a better man to take care of his wife and child.

Her great silence pained him and comfortably equally. It confirmed what he already knew and feared. But it was also a great relief. She loved him enough not to lie to him. And however bitter the truth, she cared enough that at least there was guilt. He was not nothing to her, as he sometimes wondered in his weakest moments.

"It sounds so stupid to say but…" Henry said as he paced around their bedroom in Grantham House. "I guess I was never him and I could not be him."

"I'm so sorry... " Mary said through her tears. "I never meant to hurt you."

"No, you never do," Henry replied. "That's what's so frustrating about you, Mary. You never mean to hurt people, not this badly, it's just who you are."

"That's not fair…"

"Doesn't matter if it is fair or not, Mary. It's true!" Henry said forcefully.

"You think this doesn't hurt me? You think I enjoy this? I don't want to hurt you, if there was any other way…"

"You could've not led me on!"

"I didn't! I married you because I loved you! This wasn't some game to me, you were my life, Henry!" Mary replied.

"Then why are you leaving?"

Mary didn't have an immediate answer. There was no good answer to abandon one's vows. Mary believed in marriage, more so than most people her age. She didn't want to be one of those women with three marriages by the time they are in their thirties. When she married Matthew, she imagined growing old with him, raising his children, and dying together. And she imagined the same when it came to Henry. It was the reason why she didn't immediately run to Matthew when he arrived at Heathrow nearly a year ago.

"Would you rather I stay?" Mary asked. "Would you keep me here, in this marriage, knowing what you know now? I'm trying to do the right thing."

"No, the right thing would have been to never marry me in the first place if your intentions and heart were always with Matthew!" Henry shouted back. "You made me out to be a fool!"

"We're all fools in this…"

"Do you love him… did you always love him more than me?" Henry finally asked. The question that had plagued his deepest thoughts ever since they first heard the news of Matthew's miraculous return.

"Why do you want to hear this?"

But of course, she knew perfectly well why he would want the answer to that question even if would most certainly hurt him. Because she would want to know as well.

"Yes," she answered.

Henry merely stared at her, wide-eyed and utterly destroyed, as if hoping against hope, that somehow, by some miracle she would take back everything she had just said and that she would be his again. As she rightfully should be, she was his wife afterall. They took a vow. But he knew that wasn't to be. He just wanted to hold onto the illusion a moment longer.

"I've always loved him, since he first arrived in my life, I've loved him," Mary said tearfully. "I loved him so much that I hated him, for years. Tortured him. You think I've hurt you, you have no idea. And he accepts it now. As if all I ever was to him was a cruel trick. A fleeting moment of happiness."

"Then why go back to him?"

"Because in that fleeting moment, I was happy too. The happiest I've ever been. And I want that moment to last long as possible. And it's for me and me alone to make that happen now," Mary answered. "You are my husband and I have loved you truly. But Matthew was,_ is_, the love of my life. You are second to him only because you choose to see it that way."

"No," Henry said as he wiped away his tears and stood tall. "I won't give up. I've put too much into this marriage to just let it go. He's not the man you knew, he's not the man you love. I am the man you love!"

"Please, Henry, don't do this," May whispered.

"I'll fight this, I'll fight for us, for you, me, and George!"

"Do you even believe that?" Mary asked.

"What?" Henry let out. He was caught off guard.

"Do you really believe that what's best for me and George is to stay here with you?"

"I…" Henry hesitated. "I could provide for him."

"But do you love him as much as Matthew loves him?"

"That's not fair…"

"Unfair was how you restricted George from seeing Matthew," Mary replied. "He let you, because he believed in you. He believed you to be an honourable man with good intentions."

Henry looked down. He hated it. He hated being shamed by Matthew even without him being there. But perhaps, in the end, the fact was she was right. And this was the end. There was simply no more room for him.

"Matthew loved me and George so much that he was willing to let us go, because that's how little he regards his own happiness when it comes to me and my son," Mary said. "Do you believe that you love us more than he does?"

* * *

_The night before..._

"Are you sure?" Matthew asked breathlessly as Mary attacked his neck with her tongue.

"Quite sure," she moaned against his skin.

"Wait."

Against his every instinct, against his deepest desires, Matthew pulled her off of him. She straddled him, staring back at him with equal parts lust and fear. Matthew took a few deep breaths. Mary held hers in anticipation. Was he going to stop this again? As he had done so many times before? Had his honour turned to intransigence? Had his love for her become nothing more than adoration? Had things become so bad that he wasn't willing to have her even if she offered?

"What is it?" she asked meekly.

"Are you sure about this? Are you sure you wouldn't regret this in the morning?" Matthew asked.

"Oh Matthew…" Mary answered as she smiled a smile of relief. "I've never been so sure of anything in my life. For the first time in a long time, I feel certain about something. And that's you. You've always been here for me through everything. And I know that I don't deserve it the way I've shut you out this year but I'm asking you to trust me… I'll never leave you again."

Her hands trembled as they touched his cheeks. His skin was just as she remember, warm and soft. As were his eyes, always blue, always expressive, always perfect. But she could see the fear in him now. She was taking him to a place perhaps he wasn't ready to go again. That was her fault but she wanted his trust again. She would have to earn it. She wanted to.

"You were the most beautiful dream I've ever had, Mary."

"I'm not a dream," Mary said as she leaned in and kissed him tenderly. "I'm real. And I'm really here."

She began to unbutton her lavender blouse as she grinded her hips into his and exploring his mouth with her tongue. It had been too long. How she missed the taste of his mouth. How since missed the way they perfectly fit together.

"Wait," he said again pulling her off of him again.

Now she was scared. Twice in less than as many minutes? Was he having doubts? Did he just not want her anymore. Was this all a big mistake. As her mind reeled with the worst of all possible scenarios, it nearly escaped her attention that he was sliding her blouse over her shoulder to reveal the black bra she wore underneath. She sat silently and tentatively as he slowly undressed her. There was pageantry and deliberation in his actions. Each movement, meticulously designed to reveal as much of her as he was willing to see, second by second, heartbeat by heartbeat, as if to take in the sight all at once would be too much for him.

Six long, long torturous has had passed they had less made love. He had resigned himself to the fact that six years ago would be his last. But here she was again, promising to love him, pledging herself to him. It was beyond his wildest dreams. In the caves of Afghanistan, he had forced all such happiness, hope, and desires from his imagination. Discovering them again in the midst of the real thing was all too overwhelming.

"I know I'm not the young girl I was once…" Mary said softly, her voice; unsure. "I'm old now, I've had a child–—"

"Stop," Matthew commanded. "I will not permit you to speak ill of your body, of yourself. Not when you are the only thing I've desired since leaving you at the airport all those years ago. You are… utterly beautiful. Perfect beyond measure. And I just need time, to remember this moment."

Mary smiled as her tears began to flow again. She took off her blouse and threw it to the floor. She stood up, unzipped her pencil skirt and let it fall to the floor. She stood there in her matching bra, panties, and heels. A work of art for his eyes only. She was his reward for six years of suffering. She felt it inadequate, but he didn't think so.

She mounted him again and leaned him to kiss him once more. She was sure they were to kiss many times that night. Afterall, they had years to make up for.

"You… make… me… feel like.. the most.. beautiful… woman in the world," Mary said in between kisses.

"You are," he replied, offering an almost confused expression. As if what she had said was so stupidly obvious it hardly needed to be said.

But now it was her turn. Her prize, for being courageous, for making the hardest decision of her life. She began to unbutton his skirt. Fuck it, the buttons took too long. She the folds of his shirt and tore it apart.

"Oh my…" she let out instinctively.

She leaned back slightly. It took a second for to process it all. The discoloration, the scars, but also the abs…

"When… when… did this happen?"

"What?" Matthew asked with a hint of his old devious voice.

"All of it…"

"I'm a little ashamed to say but my life outside of seeing George, consists mostly of work and exercise," Matthew answered.

"And all your other women…"

"Yes, and them…" Matthew admitted.

"Was this… for them?" Mary said as she traced the contours of his muscles with her fingertips. It infuriated and aroused at her at the same time. She hated the idea of Matthew with any of his other women. And she could at least admit it now, because he was hers again. But at the same time, she could also admit that, whatever his motivations, she liked the results.

"Partly," Matthew answered, sounding a little embarrassed.

"Well… I'll have to thank them sometime."

Mary slid off of Matthew and in between his legs. She planted herself on her knees and started to undo his belt. She looked up at him and watched his nervous expression. Good, she liked a challenge. She wanted to change his nervousness into pure ecstasy. She had to admit, it had been a while. She hadn't done it for Henry in quite a few months. It used to be that every time he qualified and finished a race well he would want a blowjob but as Matthew became more and more a part of their lives even without being their, the intimacy between them faded.

And she was hungry.

She didn't even realize how hungry she was until now. It had been so long and things with Henry had been so tense that she had forgotten what it was to desire and be desired. She wanted both. And she wanted it with this man.

"Now just relax and let me take care of you," she said seductively.

Her words sent shivers down his spine. It was just as she remembered, the velvet quality of her voice, the smoothness of her skin. The heat of her palms as they wrapped around him. Her fingers danced around the head, playing with him, examining him, reacquainting herself with a lost toy, a forgotten treasure, and her old object of worship. It was time for prayer.

She took him into her mouth and tightened her lips around him. He was as hard as a diamond. She made sure of that when she gyrated atop him earlier, casting her spell upon him. She was indeed a witch and he had indeed fallen prey to her. That much was obvious. She looked up at him, at his rippling stomach as they undulated up and down like gentle waves. Her hands reached up and caressed his counters, hard and soft at the same time, a man carved from stone but fueled by the reddest of blood.

He explored her throat with his cock. His hands guided her fragile head by her hair which he had fashioned into a handle. He was gentle with her, but not too gentle. He wanted her to know, that in all else, he would surrender to her. For she was the mother of his child, a goddess in every right. He had sacrificed his life for her. And he would gladly do it again. But if she chose this, to submit to him here, he wanted to show her what that entailed.

Her eyes rolled backwards as she swallowed him rhythmically. An unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, gurgling sound came from her mouth. Her hands explored his stomach further, etching the details of his contours and ridges forever into her memory. This was hers now and she would not let it go again.

She let out a loud heaving gasp as Matthew freed her from his cock. A thin trail of saliva connected her lips to him. She wiped her mouth with her finger before saying, "is that what you do to them?"

"Don't worry about what I do to them," Matthew said as his voice grew deep. "Worry about what I'm about to do to you."

"Are you threatening me, sir?" Mary asked in faux-dismay.

"You needn't be scared, you'll like it."

Matthew reached out and offered her his hand. She gladly accepted it and rose to her feet. He positioned himself behind her and wasted no time exploring her skin. He left gentle kisses on her neck as he unhooked her bra and began to massage her breasts, tickling and teasing her nipples. His travels exploration eventually led him to her waist. He pushed her panties down and began to play with her clit. Mary let out a breathless gasp. She had dreamed of this moment and masturbated to it for months now. She never thought it would ever actually happen again.

"Alright, Mr. Crawley," she whispered into his ear. "Do your worst!"

Something had been triggered inside of him. Something primal, something beastly. But he supposed that's what she wanted. Taunting him and always been her forte. To provoke him was how she loved him before. For everything that had could and had been said about the meek and tame Matthew Crawley, he was never one who needed protection. He knew who he was and the only person who could get to him was her. Only she could get a rise out of him. And that's what she did, for him.

He pushed her forward towards the couch. She kicked her heels off and waited for him. Arching her back and sticking her ass in the air, she nervously waited for him. She wondered what it would feel like. She hadn't had him in so long. But she had never forgotten the last night they had sex before he left for Afghanistan. She cherished that memory and returned to it off. Even on her wedding night, she never forgot him. And even if Henry and her had great intimate sex over the years, in her mind, it was always, _always_, second to that last night with Matthew.

She felt his hands around her waist. He took his sweet time and explored her curves. To him, this was what he deserved, this was it. Everything that he had sacrificed led up to this moment. Everything that he thought he had lost forgotten, returned to him. But to her, it was just deliberately tortuous.

"Come on, Matthew!" Mary growled. "Fuck me now! Fucke me like you fuck your whores!"

Faster than she could've anticipated, she felt him penetrate her deeply. Far deeper than any man had ever been, including Matthew himself. She felt his hunger for her, she felt it in her bones. She felt it in his iron grip around her waist, pulling her into him like the unstoppable for the ocean tides. She gripped onto the back of the couch and tried to fight him. She needed to fight him a little, if only to compete with her recent rivals. But it was no use, his grip, his thrust, his intensity, and his hunger were far more than she had anticipated and possibly more than she could handle.

But she wouldn't be deterred. They had waited six long years for this. Six long, agonizing, torturous years. She surrendered herself to his fury. It was the only way. She wanted to feel his pain, his frustration, his anger, and yes, his deep love for her. She needed to know what she had always felt.

"Yes! Fuck, that's it!" Mary shouted, her hair caught on her lips, her makeup smeared across the couch. "Fuck me, like you've always wanted to. Punish me for marrying another man. I know you want to!"

"Aaahh!" Not words, but a primordial howl. A barbarian, a wolf man, that's what he was in that very moment. He spanked her repeatedly, turning her ass red. She moaned and growled as her entire body seized. Her toes curled and straightened with his every thrust. There was a way that he made her legs twitch that, that only he could do. She knew, then, that she would want to be without that feeling.

"Yes! Again! Punish me! I deserve it! Punish me for abandoning you, for leaving you!" She slurred her words against the leather of the couch. "I should've been here the first day you came back, down on my knees, sucking your cock, welcoming you home! Oh Matthew, harder!"

It was then, in her delirium, that she realized how much she needed this as well. Her guilt, her pain, her fear. She needed to be purged as much as him. In her mind, she needed to atone for marrying Henry, for letting him keep George away from Matthew, and for giving up on Matthew so easily. She chastised him for his cowardice, but had she been any braver in all of this? Her desires told her no.

"You're mine! Not his!" Matthew groaned. Sweating dripping from his chin, teeth gritting, eyes red with passion and fury. "And you'll never be his again!"

That's all she ever wanted to hear.

"Yes, I'm yours, forever and always! I love you, Matthew."

She came, her muscles tightened, her fingers dug into the couch and her legs spasmed. She came so hard she almost passed out. Her strength was slipping away from her. Suddenly, he stopped. Mary turned to look at him. He sat himself on the couch beside her. There was a moment as they looked at each other. Pure love and adoration. Quickly turned into something more sinister (and fun). He pulled her on top of him, like before. But somehow, this time, she felt more vulnerable.

"Time to prove it," Matthew said as he panted. "Fuck me like you love me."

Did he think she wouldn't? Did he think she was merely bluffing? Was this a test? Test or not, Mary had no intention of letting him down. In fact, she was desperate to mount him like the stallion he was. He was a beast, far more beastly than she remembered. But she supposed that was understandable considering he had gone through. The dessert and hardened him and made his skin coarse. It had scarred him both mentally and physically. He shielded himself from all people and all things. Including herself. It was time to change that.

She bore down on him with her entire body and began to grind against him with small circular motions of the hips. She remembered teasing him when they were younger this way. Whenever she managed to drag him out to a club or even when they danced at Downton. She remember the way he would blush and the frustrated way he would strut about the house, trying to cool down from what he had just experienced. She had been cruel to him. She had always been cruel. That ends now.

She moaned loudly for him. For she knew that he loved to hear her sing. And this was his favourite song. His hands danced across her body, exploring every inch of her, reminding himself of what used to be and what was new. There would be time enough, a live time, but he didn't want to wait. But suddenly, she pinned his arms down. She stared at him deviously. She leaned in and kissed him gently.

"Now, it's my turn," Mary purred. "I will fuck you until we break this couch. But first…"

She began to gyrate faster.

"Tell me something, Matthew Crawley."

"Anything," he replied.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"More than woman in this world?"

"Yes!"

"More than your whores and sluts?!"

"Yes!"

"Do you fuck me better and harder than them!"

"Oh god yes!" Matthew moaned.

"Tell me you're sorry!" Mary demanded in a breathless voice. "Tell me you're sorry for trying to replace me with another!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Mary!" Matthew let out.

"Tell me, I'm the only one! Tell me no one else can compare!"

"You are the only one in this world, Mary! There is no one, _no one_, that I love as much as you!"

Mary smiled with satisfaction. She knew this all along. She just needed to hear him say it. She leaned over and kissed him passionately. Their tongues danced together, effortlessly, beautifully. She moved to kiss his cheeks tenderly, because she knew he needed it and that he would allow it. Allow her. He never said it, but this she knew for certain. He had never let a woman kiss her like this during sex. Maybe they slobbered all over each other and maybe they kissed with passion. But not this. It was too tender, too intimate.

"Matthew, I love you. And I've loved you for years. Longer than I think you even know," she whispered into his ear as she grinded away building him to his climax. If he was to come, she wanted him to remember these words with that moment. "And know this. We are meant to be. Things may not always have been perfect between us, but the happiest I've ever been was with you. Only you."

She looked at him. There were tears in his eyes. She was glad, for she knew what they meant and she wiped them away gently.

"I want you to fuck me from behind as we shower together in the mornings, I want you to come to my office at lunch, close the blinds and make me scream in my non-soundproof glass office and make my girls jealous. I want to make love to you Friday night after we visit my parents, my room at Downton has been waiting for you. I want to suck your cock every Sunday morning before church and spank me afterwards for being naughty girl," Mary purred into his ear. "Afterall, we have six years to make up for."

She continued to moan into his ear and promising him delights beyond his wildest imaginations when she felt it. His pelvis tightened and his cock twitched inside of her. He was about to come and nothing would please her more than if they made another baby that night. But she wanted something else first.

"Wait," she whispered to him. "Not yet."

She off of him and dragged him up to a standing position. She got down on her knees and began to suck him off again. Her hands worked him furiously as she felt his knees began to tremble. She wanted this, she had dreamed of this moment.

"Cum on my face, Matthew," she purred. "Mark me as yours! Brand me with your cum! Claim me as yours forever!"

With those magic words, as if a spell, he exploded. White hot streams of semen came streaming forth from him and landed beautifully upon her face. She was a masterpiece kneeling before him with his mark on her. This was her baptism. She was Mary Talbot. She is now, Mary Crawley once again. She smiled as she licked his seed off of her lips and swallowed. She was beautiful. She was content. She had never let any man do that to her before, except for Matthew. Not even Henry. There were times when he had asked for it. There were even times she considered letting him. But in the end, she was glad that she didn't. This was Matthew's and hers, and theirs alone.

* * *

"I can't believe we just did that," Mary said as she nuzzled him. "Honestly, it was about time."

"We were animals," Matthew commented.

They laid there together on the floor still glowing from the terrible things they had just done to each other. In their passion, they had knocked over the coffee table and pushed the couch several meters back. Mary was draped over Matthew's chest. He had wrapped a blanket around Mary to keep her warm. Knew they should get to bed soon, it was late and tomorrow would be a tough day for both of them. But they wanted to enjoy the afterglow of six years of built up tension and its climactic release for as long as possible.

"I can't believe we didn't wake up George," Matthew said with a chuckle.

"You're too careful with him sometimes," Mary commented. "He's a heavy sleeper."

"I should've known that," Matthew said with an awkward smile.

Mary pushed herself up off of his chest and turned to look at him.

"You will, in time," Mary said as she caressed his cheek. "Please don't blame yourself again."

"I'm not," Matthew reassured her. "I know how much it hurts you."

"The things we said just now…" Mary looked away as she blushed. "I'm still a little embarrassed."

"Don't be…" Matthew said as she kissed her on the shoulder. "You never have to be embarrassed with me."

"Oh, but you're not embarrassed at all," Mary said as she rolled her eyes and smiled.

"If you knew about the other women then you must've known about what I was doing with them," Matthew answered. "What's the point of being embarrassed?"

"How about that they were filthy nasty things?" Mary turned and looked at him deviously over her shoulder.

"You liked it," Matthew returned her fiendish stare with one of his own.

"I loved it," Mary said as she turned around and wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. "You should punish me more often. I don't think I'm completely free of my guilt for leaving you just yet."

"I was dead," Matthew said. "Or as good as dead. You need never feel guilty about moving on. But if you need an excuse for me to fuck you like a cheap whore, then of course, I will oblige your fantasy."

"You forget yourself," Mary said donning her gentry voice and manners for a split second. "I am a lady! Future Countess of Grantham. So yes, sometimes I do need the pretense."

Matthew smiled and kissed her once again. Future Countess of Grantham, does that mean he was once again the future Earl? He thought about it for a moment and all of the legal ramifications but he concluded that he simply didn't care. He had Mary and he had George. That's was enough for now. He could deal with rest of it later.

"You know I have to go…" Mary said as she affected a frown. "I must… end things with Henry."

"Of course," Matthew replied understandingly. "You know you're going to burn his entire world."

"Don't say that…"

"It's true, it's how I felt when I first heard the news about you and him," Matthew said.

"You know I'll be back right?" Mary asked with some concern in her voice. "I meant what I said. You'll never lose me again."

"I know."

_The End_

**A/N:** I warned you but you wouldn't listen...


	9. Hot Soup, epilogue

_Hot Soup, epilogue_

"You need things…"

"What are you talking about?" Matthew asked from a place halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

"This place, I've been polite up until now because it really wasn't my place to say, but… you really need things."

"I've got things," he said as he rolled onto his side. "I've got a bed, a desk, two tables, one dining, one coffee, oh and I have a sofa, and forks, and knives, pots, and pans-"

"You need to shut up for a moment, I mean real things… like paintings and pictures, signs of life..." Mary said as she returned to sit on his bed.

She was simply magnificent in the mornings. How could he have forgotten that? Six years in a cave had blunted his memories. The little details that he had always taken for granted, robbed from him, like spare change from his pocket, unnoticed until he needed them. And there were many times in that cave that he needed them.

So he hung onto them now, every detail about her he actively inscribed into his memory, filed away for safekeeping. It still didn't feel real to him. He half expected to wake up at any moment to find himself back in that cave with his captors, he could still hear that Pashto that he had learned to understand and the occasional spurts of Arabic that he did not understand.

"I thought I was supposed to share more, not less," Matthew said cheekily as he sunk back into his pillow.

"Oh, you think you're so clever don't you," Mary said as a smile appeared on her face.

That smile. Filed away forever this time. Even if this was a dream, he would take this with him into the waking world.

"I have my moments."

Mary raised an eyebrow at him as she reached for her shirt that was draped over his nightstand, the same one that she had worn the day before.

"So I don't understand," Matthew said. "You have morning underwear now? Is this some new trend I'm not aware of?"

He hooked his fingers and plucked at Mary's black thong like a guitar string a couple of times. Memorizing the sound of the fabric snapping against her skin. She promptly slapped his hand away.

"I have yoga in the mornings," Mary said as she grabbed her yoga pants from the floor and rubbed it in his face.

"I still don't understand," Matthew insisted. "So it's okay that someone random guy sees the full and complete curvature of your magnificent bottom but what an unspeakable horror it would be if he saw your panties through those pants?"

"You were gone six years," Mary flashed him an incredulous look. "Not sxi hundred… Yoga pants and yoga was definitely a thing before you left."

"Before _I left_," Matthew repeated her words. The euphemism made him smile. "You're so closed off in the mornings."

"And you're so closed off... all the time," Mary turned her head and flashed him a look over her shoulder.

"Okay, fair point," Matthew admitted.

There were a lot of things he had to admit. Especially now that she had stayed over at his place for five consecutive nights. Probably why she felt entitled to comment on his lack of _things_. It was true, he had shut her out when he returned. He had shut out his whole family. Partly because he was still dealing with the news of the death of his mother, but partly because life had moved on without him. Including Mary.

It was perfectly reasonable, he didn't expect the whole world to stop for him. But the pain of witnessing what he had feared most in that cave, what his captors tormented him with, the thought of his wife with another man, his son being raised by another father, was far more than he was willing to deal with or admit at the time.

He couldn't hide the news of his return, as soon as the Marine convoy picked him up, they needed to verify his identity, that meant contacting their British liaisons, which in turn meant contacting Robert. And how was Robert supposed to not tell Mary when he heard the news?

Still, he wished it could've been quieter. If he had his way, he would've returned to the UK under a new name, a new identity, and the prospect of a fresh start. The Crawleys had made peace with his death, what right did he have to disturb that peace? But that's not how things played out. And Mary cared little for rules or arrangements, certainly not for his petty self-imposed exile.

He held the line for quite some time. Never rebuffing her when she insisted on seeing him, but always keeping her at arm's length, forcing her to live the life that she had built without him. Part of him wondered if he did it to punish her. That he wasn't ready to admit to himself. Even if in the end, it was somewhat true. His suffering was hers, his loneliness could only make her heart ache more. He must've known that.

Sometimes he wondered if he had only managed to guilt her back into his life. But he knew better than to think like that. It was just a habit, a bad habit he had developed as a way of coping with the circumstances prior to the events of New Years. She had committed herself to him in a way he didn't see coming, in a way he dared not dream in his greatest fantasies. He couldn't go there again, even if every instinct he had was trying to drag him back.

"Don't worry, it's sexy," Mary said, noticing his long pause. "Sometimes… occasionally… okay, it's not. It's infuriating. But I don't want to push you too hard too fast."

"I will work on talking more, I swear," Matthew said.

"I know you will," Mary replied.

She leaned over and kissed him. She loved that it still stunned him. He may yet get used to it again like he did back in the old days. But for now, she wanted him to feel that jolt of electricity every time their lips met. It made him feel alive and reminded him that this was real and not some elaborate hallucination. And for her, those were always the lips that she was meant to kiss.

"Dinner tonight?" She asked.

"Of course," Matthew replied. "I can cook this time."

"Not that I don't love having dinner here," Mary said. "But why don't we go out tonight?"

"In public? With me?" Matthew asked.

"No, with Santa Claus…"

"But what if we are caught? Everyone will know," Matthew said.

"I'm pretty sure everyone already knows," Mary replied. "You don't spend five consecutive nights away from home during the holidays without someone noticing. I'm sure the rumours are circulating already."

"What about Henry?" Matthew asked. "Or have you forgotten you're still married to him."

"Matthew…" There was a certain frustration in her voice. "Can we fucking forget about all of the bullshit that plagues our existence for just one night? Yes, it will be messy, yes it will hurt Henry, yes it will be scandalous, and yes Papa is going to give me a stern lecture the next time I talk to him. I'm tired of doing what's right. Especially when it isn't even what's right. You're what's right. I'm never going to let anyone make me feel ashamed of you ever again."

There was a moment's pause.

"You just want to throw it in Victoria's face don't you?" Matthew asked with a devious smile.

"Yes and all the other women you shagged in the last few months, " Mary said desperately trying to maintain her previous disposition. It wasn't working. "Fine, you caught me, I would love to rub it in those bitches' faces that I have you back."

"Doesn't really change the fact…"

"I know…" Mary said as she got back into bed and curled up to him. "It doesn't matter to me. I won't lie, I hate the thought of you with those women. But I don't blame you."

"Mary, I'm so sorry…"

"Please, don't be," Mary said. "But you have to make it up to me."

"How do I do that?"

"Victoria's birthday is coming up, she always throws a big party at her house," Mary said as she lay her head on his chest.

"Okay, and?" Matthew said absently as he stroked her hair.

"We're going to sneak into her home office and you're going to fuck me on her desk."


End file.
